Sonnet for Not-so-nice Women
I came up with this sonnet reading Ginmar's journal about the Tyranny of Nice.
At three I hunted brontosaurs and piggy-eyed triceratops
Towheaded girl with tree-branch spear, I stalked my prey with jumps and hops.
I never quit the valiant fight, though Mother sneered with lip a-curl:
"A foolish game. You'll learn someday: act like a sweet, nice little girl."
At ten, I read of fairy tales, but Cinderella made me tired.
Her blonde and perfect victimhood left me, I fear, quite uninspired.
I liked the ones who ran away, who saved, with one hand's wave or twirl,
A brother, lover or a friend--the rebels, not nice, suff'ring girls.
At twenty-five, I went to work. Trained, educated and prepared
For anything, or so I thought--then learned that I had my boss quite scared.
The words I used he'd never heard. His frantic mind was all a-swirl
Lest I, so clever, claim his job. Mine went to a nice--stupid--girl.
Now forty-one and woman grown, this view of women makes me hurl.
Why must I be "nice,"and not good? Why am I seen as child or "girl"?
At three I hunted brontosaurs and piggy-eyed triceratops
Towheaded girl with tree-branch spear, I stalked my prey with jumps and hops.
I never quit the valiant fight, though Mother sneered with lip a-curl:
"A foolish game. You'll learn someday: act like a sweet, nice little girl."
At ten, I read of fairy tales, but Cinderella made me tired.
Her blonde and perfect victimhood left me, I fear, quite uninspired.
I liked the ones who ran away, who saved, with one hand's wave or twirl,
A brother, lover or a friend--the rebels, not nice, suff'ring girls.
At twenty-five, I went to work. Trained, educated and prepared
For anything, or so I thought--then learned that I had my boss quite scared.
The words I used he'd never heard. His frantic mind was all a-swirl
Lest I, so clever, claim his job. Mine went to a nice--stupid--girl.
Now forty-one and woman grown, this view of women makes me hurl.
Why must I be "nice,"and not good? Why am I seen as child or "girl"?