The Whatever's Wife

Somebody's wife
lived within a shadow of meaning

because as everybody knows

a woman's profession

is subsumed by

that of her husband.

His wife smiled as she wrapped on

the apron

the chains to the oven

and kicked off her shoes

So she could best enjoy

the shade

with a book.

No, wife!

Cried the author.

Don't sit down

the book you clasp,

its pages ragged,

it is not meant to be opened on the beach

those umbrella words

are meant to remind you

there's a place

for women such as you

in the shelter of the kitchen

and in the low-beamed workforce

caring,

minding,

working,

and wrapped in

someone else's

identity.

A.J. Ponder

I wrote this back in the beginning of the year - when it seemed every book came out as "The (insert male dominated profession here)'s Wife."  It seemed to be that these apparently worthy books were perhaps inadvertently sending us all a message with their titles, that a woman can only be seen reflected in her man.  Is it any surprise that in such circumstances women are paid less, it is pocket money after all, and any mention of dependants certainly doesn't illicit more money - just the opposite, less money, less prospects, and for solo mothers a battle between putting food on the table and being able to spend any time with their children. 


Young girls are told they can have it all, but they are never told that having it all equates to the work, not the money.  And before you say - that's sexist, guys get a rubbish deal too, I agree, but it's a different rubbish deal, and I would suggest that being the husband of an equitably paid wife, or a boy whose mother can afford to put food on the table is unlikely to make the situation worse.


Personally I'm looking forward to a new run of titles "The stewardess' husband," "The Prime-Minister's Husband" etc. etc.

A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

The Grand Design

My Minion

Almost In the style of A.A.Milne, "Market Square"

I had a dollar

a brand new dollar.

Mum gave me a dollar

for cleaning the hall.

I took my dollar, my fine bright dollar,

straight to the book-shop, and asked them all.

"Have you got a minion, a slave, or a servant,

'cause I really am tired of cleaning the hall."

But they didn't have minions,

at least not real ones,

and story book minions

are no use at all.

So I took my dollar down to the bakers,

and showed them my dollar, and asked them all,

"Can you make me a minion, 'cause I really need a minion.

I need a minion to do my chores and all."

But the baker couldn't make minions,

at least not real ones,

and ginger-bread minions

are no use at all.

So I went to the shop where everything's a dollar

and said, "I need someone at my beck and call,"

but they wouldn't sell a minion, no matter how small,

they didn't have a minion -- not for any price at all.

I trudged home with my dollar,

and I slammed the door,

and I stomped to the kitchen

when I heard my mother call --

"Would you like a sandwich?  A rainbow-sprinkle sandwich?

I've cut the crusts the way you like them most of all."

That's when I knew I had a minion, my very own minion,

I'd always had a minion, after all. 

 A.J. Ponder 
This was a for a certain friend, who remains anonymous who was complaining there was not enough rhyming poetry.  You know who you are :D