you make me want to be the stereotypical female --

circa 1950's housewife, hourglass
dresses with matching aprons,
a bobbed blonde wig curled at the edges --
kiss the man when he lugs a briefcase
through the white-out doorframe.
["the boys are outside playing baseball,
honey. susie's playing with barbara-ann
from next door. isn't that sweet?"]
husband falls into the laz-e-boy
as the television flickers monotones weakly.

i'll cook the perfect meal, use the perfectly unchipped plates
and afterwards susie and little son
will bicker as they wash and dry
the china. elder son
will scribble away at his schoolwork
as you help him
while the newsanchor bats her faux
eyelashes/hair/body towards men
exactly like you
across the suburbs.

and, you and i, we'll all be
such beautiful
carbon copies.