Domesticity
The sun stole through the curtains
Competing with the glitter of the gowns
Of the ladies on the TV set.
Smoke spiralled towards the ceiling, creating
An atmosphere of a Chinese den.
Books about the world’s history and the working
Of man’s mind are neatly stored behind glass doors
Whilst women’s magazines, fresh off the press,
Coffee stained and dog-eared, are sprawled on the floor.
A woman dressed in housewife’s uniform,
Sombre coloured sloppy track suit (no-brand name)
And down-trodden slippers,
Is oblivious to the traffic outside,
For she sits with eyes transfixed to the box,
The box, a provider of her mental stimulus
And the soul of her survival.
The phone rings, she does not respond for
The problems of her friends in the box are
Too enormous to ignore.
Also, her mind is not in this world of mortgages
And housewives’ toils, but the world of Hollywood -
A world where her life would be insignificant.
As she immersed in the world of glitter,
The doorbell rings - she does not hear.
A woman in housewife’s uniform enters on tippy toes
So she too can enter the world of glitter,
The world of strained emotions
Where the world’s problems are so gigantic compared
To the women in housewives’ uniforms.
© Judy Brumby-Lake 1992
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