by Ann Drysdale
Today is the day we rejoice, we sluts and hussies.
Out in broad daylight in public. Come see us dance!
It is the day of Mary, who said sucks to her sister
and sat on her arse while the beardy man told stories.
It is the day of Lilith, who has no home to go to.
When evicted she hollered Yaaay! in unholy triumph.
She never liked gardening anyway. She gets along,
and goddam, how she rates snakes.
It is the day of Shamhat of the April Gate
who teaches boys to eat and drink and fuck.
Nobody looks in her refrigerator for mould
or turns their nose up at the whiff of the fuzzy armpits
that put her magnificent tits in bold parenthesis.
It is the day of Me and all my unsavoury sisters.
We have flung open the curtains on our accumulations,
left open the doors to our decomposition
and we are out, out! All out in the street and dancing,
scaring the shit out of the hardfaced men and their horses,
wising-up their wives to the truth of our situation.
We don't keep house; we have lives and we live them in studios.
We fill them with what delights us. Peer in and marvel!
We do not give houseroom to cleanliness or regret.
Today we will dance. Look world! Our legs are unshaven
and our shoes are mismatched. Hurrah!