Housewives - Poem by Robert Rorabeck
Nonsense of ribbons tied around the apple bows:
The houselights linger and the housewives
Prepare the pretty feast of the bodies
In their views: they spring around the tables that
Are being used,
And fall flat into the hearths of the springing news:
Their husbands, glad to be architects of the leggy
Game, catch them and mouth them, and they
Do the same:
Every evening as steady as they prove:
Housewives, and sun showers of the evening’s news.
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