Searching For Rude #metoo
I wrote this poem a long time ago back when I wrote poems all the time. I don't do that anymore. And this is my #metoo response about a subject I've talked about/written about for ages, yet every time I write about it again - I seem only able to do so in poem form, and it takes away my ability to write/think about anything else for an entire day.
Searching for Rude
Mind your manners. Every decent lady knows to mind her manners,
The mother says as she wipes the corner of her mouth
With a dainty napkin of linen.
Mind your manners, she says after the almost discreet belch.
Mind your manners, she says as her daughters reach
For another
Serving
Ladies are demure and quiet, gentle and polite.
Ladies never ask for seconds and always leave a little of the first.
*
At one of the parties before my freshman year in college, I remember
A boy. I remember a boy with a neck that looked like a bull’s.
I remember a boy with a neck that looked like a bull’s neck
When that bull is about to rear and charge, rear
And charge across a crowded room and slap a drink
In a hand. I remember my hand, holding a drink,
Not wanting it, but being too polite to say no.
I remember a boy at a party with a neck like a bull.
I remember a boy who laughed when I got the courage to whisper.
I remember a boy who laughed when I finally got the courage to half-whisper, “No.”
*
Mothers tell their daughters:
Be polite and kind.
Do not yell indoors. It hurts one’s ear.
Do not raise your fork until the hostess has raised hers.
Do not belch or yawn, sneeze or expel gas out the rectum.
(If anyone else has the gall
to do so, ignore it.
Giggle about it later behind their backs.
Roll your eyes.)
Mothers tell their daughters:
A lady never swears.
A lady never eats with her mouth open.
A lady never causes a scene.
A lady never opens the door.
(Unless for a child or a lady her
senior, or someone who is impaired, somehow
impaired, although this can be tricky since
it’s rude to condescend.)
A lady never raises her hand to slap a man.
A lady never kicks or bites or cuffs her hands into fists.
A lady never causes a scene.
*
My sisters wear their makeup for disguise.
My sisters wear their makeup heavy over bruises.
My sisters wear their makeup over their mouth like lies.
My sisters wears their makeup
But it doesn’t cover everything; my sisters must cry
Sometimes, sometimes my sisters must swallow fists
In their dreams. My sisters must groan
When they hear people say: That girl. What a nice girl!
So nice. So polite.
Sometimes my sisters must want to scream.
Sometimes my sisters must want to hit back.
Sometimes my sisters must want to pluck the lady
Off of them like a child plucks the head off a dandelion.
Careless. Never looking back as fluff scatters in the wind.
Sometimes my sisters, sometimes my sisters, must want to be rude.