A young woman's struggle with domesticity in the Post-War 1950's |
When she was a child, Mary was Glad to see the sunshine, Glad to feel the warm wind, Glad to walk the rough roads. Living in the pre-war haze of youthfulness, she considered the things she loved: Her hopes-- endless and undimmed. Her ambitions-- Infinite and unbound. But then the adulthood fell on her head. Living in the post-war haze of domesticity, She pops pills of the smiling somnambulists. She remembers… riveting tank parts on an assembly line. She remembers… An open meadow with Sun-singed tall grass. She remembers… A broad blue sea of Sky with rolling Mountains of cloud. Living in the post-war haze of domesticity, She considers the things She buys on credit: Her appliances-- Miniaturized and encased In molded plastic. Her ambitions-- Miniaturized and encased In molded plastic. But now she hears of this Polish prophet preaching The blessings of the burning. Flying Saucer seer With blistered skin like Stigmata And brown eyes crying crimson. They picked him as their preacher, Like Ezekiel to the angels. They come, Beautiful brethren with blessings Of the sunward Paradise. They come, To burn away all the Vanity of a Lipstick Age. Burn away suburban lies. Burn away your Valium highs. Burn away your magazine face. Our sunward siblings from The higher place. Burn away your credit-based life. Burn away your Cold War strife. Burn away your televised fears. Grant us the wisdom of your Elder years. When her husband is away at work, Mary walks to the Steel tower behind her house. Its power lines hum Warmly in the tongue Of our brethren from beyond. Monday through Friday, She comes to this Atomic Age alter Eisenhower Age When she was a child, Mary was Glad to see the sunshine, Glad to feel the warm wind, Glad to walk the rough roads. Living in the pre-war haze of youthfulness, she considered the things she loved: Her hopes-- endless and undimmed. Her ambitions-- Infinite and unbound. But then the adulthood fell on her head. Living in the post-war haze of domesticity, She pops pills of the smiling somnambulists. She remembers… riveting tank parts on an assembly line. She remembers… An open meadow with Sun-singed tall grass. She remembers… A broad blue sea of Sky with rolling Mountains of cloud. Living in the post-war haze of domesticity, She considers the things She buys on credit: Her appliances-- Miniaturized and encased In molded plastic. Her ambitions-- Miniaturized and encased In molded plastic. But now she hears of this Polish prophet preaching The blessings of the burning. Flying Saucer seer With blistered skin like Stigmata And brown eyes crying crimson. They picked him as their preacher, Like Ezekiel to the angels. They come, Beautiful brethren with blessings Of the sunward Paradise. They come, To burn away all the Vanity of a Lipstick Age. Burn away suburban lies. Burn away your Valium highs. Burn away your magazine face. Our sunward siblings from The higher place. Burn away your credit-based life. Burn away your Cold War strife. Burn away your televised fears. Grant us the wisdom of your Elder years. When her husband is away at work, Mary walks to the Steel tower behind her house. Its power lines hum Warmly in the tongue Of our brethren from beyond. Monday through Friday, She comes to this Atomic Age alter To feel its kind, Irradiating truths. She smiles, Crying crimson. |