Dec 24, 2009
‘Twas some weeks before Christmas, and up in the attic
Were blouses and dresses which, if found, would cause static.
And wigs too, and padding and heels at their highest
And short skirts for bold girls, not the girl who is shy-est.
This bounty of pretty, to me a delight
Was a source too of upset that I hoped to set right
My too private wardrobe did enjoin me with grief
And for long months I puzzled, in pursuit of relief.
So temptingly close, six small steps up the stairs
Duck down here, mind your step, look beyond those old chairs
You’d see wires and boxes, old tools and detritus
Squint there now, beyond them, all the things that delight us
In the cold, and the dark, and on hangers, not shoulders
Dresses not loved and worn, well they wither and molder
But molder they must long as I do not share
With my wife, who might find this all too much to bear.
Having married a man, a chap dressed in a Tux
Who took to things manly like water to ducks
And who took loving pledges, religious and civil
But now wants to walk with a different hip swivel
You know news of this sort would confuse and confound
The smart and the strong and the frail and the sound,
And my proud wife, she made of such sterling stuff
Might say, and quite fairly, that enough is enough.
And I for our home, for our love, for my vows
Would purge and would promise no more dressing, no-how
And shut off desires in the wool dyed so true
For feelings and fabrics more pink and less blue.
Feelings deeper than surface, more profound than reflexive
My feelings of kinship for the woman’s perspective
I would try to disarm, to discard, and suppress
And live on with less me, and with more of my stress.
But the stress is not mine, as you know, its all shared
And unfairly with loved ones, with the people I care
To see happy, delighted, at ease and in love
And so last week, dead frightened, my push came to shove.
My story I told, (in prose form, not in verse)
A confessional letter that for better or worse
Told truths too long buried about the whole me:
Mix up 3 cups of man, add a fresh dash of “she” .
There are moments dear friends that you pray will go right
That moment, now past, I’m relieved and you might
Think me lucky in general, and most blessed by a wife
Who said, “thanks love, for sharing, lets get on with our life”.
Now panties and stockings and girdles and tights,
And jungle print tunics and tall boots that beam bright
And blouses that button from the left, not the right
Are now folded and hung in a room warm with light.
Our stockings are hung too, by chimney and belt
My favorites, more flimsy than the red ones of felt,
And I wish for you friends, with my heart, that you might,
Enjoy Christmas today, and each day, a good night.
Image courtesy of Katie over at the always worth a visit Knickers Lingerie Blog. Happy Holidays to everyone!