8th May 2021
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Domesticated: A Poem

domesticated
By Big Sexy

Every so often, I will write a poem inspired by a work of art. This next piece came to me after I saw this amazing painting. Time has erased the memory of the name of the artist and sadly I do not have an image of the painting to show you (this was before the era of cell phone cameras being the norm). I will do my best to describe the painting and hopefully, my description and the following poem will express the same feeling I had observed when I viewed it.

There is a woman standing in a kitchen, she is in a blue and white polka-dotted dress and apron. She has a 50s style hairdo. She is holding a pot roast. On the table are 8 other identical pot roasts. Her face is content. Some happiness lies behind her eyes but it has dulled.

Domesticated


Living in a constant continuum where the cacophony

of strange situations suddenly seem routine

I have seen her

She is standing there with styled hair that has been that way

Since the day after “I do”

But who is she? But who was she?

This vibrant, fun loving, free spirit

In search of herself

Looking for that one thing in the world to give life meaning

But now, what life is she seeing?

The repetitions have become repetitive

The repetitive repetitions keep repeating repetitiously

And their repetitiousness have a repetitional repeatability

Yet her ability to see beyond that has faded into

A monochromatic existence of monotonous monotony

That her monocular vision of her monogamous relationship

With her monotheistic deity

That controls her monothematic life

Has relieved her of her monophobia and as this monotony

Monopolizes her time she finds solace in monotonic music

As it plays over a monophonic phonograph

Her husband is her monocracy

But he personally is a polygamist

Who’d fail a polygraph if asked if he loved her

She is blinded by the acts of domestication

Bound to the ties of a societal definition

Of matrimony and a woman’s place

As she exits the kitchen and replaces her footwear

She sees nothing but her own happiness as it is lost

Lost without a trace, lost in her face

As she gazes through the haze of dinner parties

The haze of psuedo-social gatherings of socialites

Blathering about sociability

She socializes with social security recipients

Societal individuals who praise her for her house-making talents

But deny her socially

Those bastarads

Those fucking bastards

Will never hear her thoughts

As they eat her loaves of half-cooked meat

With smiles on their flower bearing faces

Her thoughts are gone

She is done

She is nowhere to be found

This vibrant, fun loving, free spirit

In search of herself

The woman who is looking

For that one thing in the world to give life meaning

Unfortunately, she found it

And cannot be saved, rescued or recovered

She is trapped

She has been domesticated

Read more articles by Big Sexy

Poem: That Beautiful Place

Art Inspires Art: Money Matters Tonight

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