even the most hard boiled man
fried in the heat of a no-frills space
filled with memories and promises of babies
who need to be coddled
is scrambled like a well-made breakfast.
his wife is cooking for them a delicious worrisome omelette
that's been basted in an impersonal i- can't- be- bothered
industrial steel kitchen
full of poached dreams and aspirations
and devilled by an addled brain.
unwilling children are smoked out by the tantalizing promise
of life always being a sunny side up experience.
baked into all this is expectations
of familial duty and requirements for lineage.
the man is merely soft boiled
his role not as essential as the woman's.
he is a supplier at best
but if not him
any tom bansi or benedict would do.
as long as the supply hits the bulls eye
how does it matter who's doing the giving ?
shirred into submission
pickled into passivity
scalloped by sacred texts
bodies now obey not each other's rhythms
but that of society's.
sex obviously has not.