by Shazia Ali
My teenage daughter will not wash those dishes
Piled up in the sink, or put the laundry away.
You see this week she became a feminist
And woe to her should she demean herself
To do the tasks that must not be determined
By gender, social norms, or by her mom.
She argues that she would not marry
Or look to a man to open those doors
That may be a little harder to push.
Oh no! She is a feminist, who will push
Those stubborn doors and shatter
Those shiny, pretty glass ceilings.
But then she cannot resist twisting and twirling
And admiring her trendy new heels
Reflected in those shiny glass ceilings.
She will smile coyly and blush prettily
When a door is opened for her
By that young man who lives across the street.
And when all the coffee mugs are in the sink
Stained and dirty, piling up to the top,
She will roll up her sleeves and wash
Those dirty mugs because it must be done.
Grumbling and pouting, she claims feminism
But she has yet to learn what it really means.