The phrases that start these walking poems sometimes well up from unexpected sources. I was buttoning my coat as I crossed a plaza and recalled my mother teaching me to count the buttons on my shirt with the verse “Tinker, taylor, soldier, sailor….” and somehow that segued into the image of a Victorian parent planning her children’s future. I guess I was having a Jane Austen moment.
Women’s lives were restricted but their minds were not.
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Unlaced One son to the army Caring for the elderly, Because their corsets are so tight |
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Poolside Laureate 