Arlean

I give you a bee’s eye view of women:
Let me tell you
About Arlean.
Arr-lean with field grass hair
And a Serengeti face.

When she went rummaging around
In the cells of her past,
She pulled up a dusty bit of poverty.
No, a skyscraper of poverty
So tall you could fall off it
And not hit the ground
For eighty years.

But Arlean, she got to the age
She could understand
Her mother
Didn’t have very much
(It was like dropping from a penthouse
For eight years)
But when she hit the ground,
She had learned not to want
What she couldn’t have (!)

There went a barrel of tension over the falls
And there began a Niagara of progress
For the fruit of her womb.

Imagine:
One woman, a hundred views.
A hundred women, one vision.