poeming on a tuesday

a quiet suburban rage

and what is punk rock
about making eggs
and toast for my child,
living in suburbia,
leading this quiet revolution
of unconditional love?
what is punk rock
about the woman
who votes,
the woman who buys
organic and fair trade ,
the woman who's
floors could use
some vacuuming,
who sees the accumulation
of grime, even when she's
too busy reading
another fantasy novel
to care? where's the
                                 PUNK RAWK 
in grief, waves washing over,
in love, waves washing over,
in pain, waves washing over,
in joy, waves washing over,
as the tide rolls in and out,
as my life approaches forty,
as punk rock begins to mean
something new, something stronger,
something that looks like a woman
singing along to rage
against the machine
in a mini mini van.

Today's the first day I have the house to myself (after a five day snow/president's day weekend). I have a novel to finish and tea to drink and much, much decompressing to do. 

May your Tuesday rock.