— Casey FitzSimons
If I were Dorothy Parker, holding forth
at lunch, dazzling my male companions, I’d
have bought and paid for status through womanhood,
sipping from a champagne flute attention
paid me through ritual courtesy, eating
with a tiny pickle fork the morsels
of recognition I’d get for flexing verbal
strength while belonging to the weaker sex.
I’d extemporize on being un-
enfranchised, thief of influence all the while.
I’d be remembered for my quips and put-downs,
how I’d banished the complacence of
my male friends, bashed the laudable works
of allies, just to have a sonnet read.