Her ambition is to be more shiny
and metallic, black and purple as
a thief as midday; trying to make it
in a male form, she's become as
stiff as possible.
Wearing trim suits and spike heels,
she says "bust" instead of breast;
somewhere underneath she
misses love and trust, but she feels
that spite and malice are the
prices of success. She doesn't realize
yet, that she's missed success, also,
so her smile is sometimes still
genuine. After a while she'll be a real
killer, bitter and more wily, better at
pitting the men against each other
and getting the other women fired.
She constantly conspires.
Her grief expresses itself in fits of fury
over details, details take place of
meaning,
money takes place of life.
She believes that people are lice
who eat her, so she bites first; her
thirst increases year by year and by the time
the sheen has disappeared from her black
hair,
and tension makes her features
unmistakealy
ugly, she'll go mad. No one in particular
will care. As anyone who's had her for a
boss
will know
the common woman is as common
as the common crow.
-from The Common Woman Poems-Judy Grahn
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