A Vicarious Liability Poem by Sue Stone

So, your mind drifts
to the nearest bar while I try and communicate with you?

Your stomach turns, as I attempt to speak of the day to day, inane requirements of running a household?

The effort, of being some small person's perfect parent and, somewhere in the midst of it, your preferrable partner.

The endless attending to the task of being somebody's manager,
mother,
cleaner,
personal shopper,
bill payer,
counsellor,
nose wiper,
gardener,
petrol pump attendant,
party organiser,
laundry maid,
personal assistant,
dietician and.......................
I used to be so much more.

My mind drifts too,
to the time when I was easy on the eye, and easy on your mind.

When we connected, somewhere in the middle;

to the time when I walked easy, with a gentle rolling of that sense of sexuality that comes with being young.

When I had ten minutes in the day, to savour being me.
Me?

I'm not sure who that was. She was here once.
Nice enough woman wasn't she?

Used to laugh a lot, real laid back kinda gal?
I can't put an exact date on when she disappeared.

I think it was at the point she felt she was abandoned.
She lives her life vicariously now, through the
manager,
mother,
cleaner,
personal shopper,
bill payer,
counsellor,
nose wiper,
gardener,
petrol pump attendant,
party organiser,
laundry maid,
personal assistant,
dietician
that now reside at her previous address.

She used to be so much more.......
or so I'm told.