ZANYVERSE

The Tirade of the Famished Career Woman

Author's note:

In the summer of 1997, while I was living in Hearst, Ontario (that's the boreal forest, blessed with an abundance of truckers, moose, and other wildlife) the radio station CBC North announced a Shakespeare parody contest. First prize was a trip to the Shakespearean festival in Stratford, Ontario. Second prize was a T-shirt. I won the T-shirt. But at least I can say that my poetry has been read on the air. This is a take-off on MacBeth, Act 2, Scene 1: "Is this a dagger that I see before me..."

THE TIRADE OF THE FAMISHED CAREER WOMAN

Is this a fouled pot I see before me,

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me wash thee.

He saw thee not, and I see thee still.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible

To male and female sight? or art thou but

A saucepan of the mind, a false creation,

Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

I see thee yet, but in yon living room

My spouse seems dead, and on his couch

Snores on, TV ablare, and food uncooked.

Up, Love, forthwith! Thou promisedst,

If I should hie to some employment, there

To toil for filthy lucre, that we might

Disport ourselves some little week or two

In southern climes, to toast our frozen limbs

In smiling Sol; to mock the boreal chill

Some forty points below the freezing mark

At our abode in wintry forests drear;

To write amused postcards to our kin

In glacial Timmins and in snowbound Hearst --

Thou promisedst, my faithless snoozing sweet,

To share henceforth in each domestic task,

(Though it be styled by some as women's work).

Thou promisedst, and we did draw and sign

Contractual papers on the fridge affixed.

So hie thee, honey, to yon chores,

And when thou'rt finished, mop the floors!