There is a place where we are good enough.
In that place we can let go of folded sheets and oil of olay
and bathroom scales.
In that place dust gathers without consequences
and Mr. Clean and the Brawny Towel Man hide in a bottle
while I-Dream-of-Jeannie wreaks havoc at sea
like Puck set free.
In that place, hair styles change every second
like a mood ring on your head
and psychedelic colors cavort across bodies of every gender
with no hidden meaning.
In that place a pantsuit is a miniskirt is a burka is
culottes capri pants cut-offs low-risers hip-huggers
bikini brief knock-offs
and clothing is the same as going nude.
In that place where we are good enough
we speak bravely to the boss
and sleep the sleep of the just
just because we
choose.
And in that place
And in that place
And in THAT place
women
are good enough for government work.
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