Here come

The Flannel Goddesses

In comfortable slippers

Padding down the stairs

They eat oatmeal for breakfast

With just a dash of cinnamon

No croissants or Crepe Suzette

Victoria has no secrets here

She’d be out of business.

But the Flannel Goddesses rule

Even though the world fails to notice

They dress up

Or down, and don’t really care

If they break their nails

When they age, they dare

To wear purple.

At home, they clean their carpets

At work, they clean out

Corporate corruption

Or heal the sick

Or defend the poor schmuck

Who’s run amok.

With just a day’s notice.

They can cook dinner for fifty

Or merge corporations

While chauffeuring the kids

So, men, pay heed

Not to the bottled blond bimbos

Bedecking the tabloid covers

Flannel Goddesses are your salvation

Langer is a professor and director of thoracic oncology at the University of Pennsylvania. He lives in Princeton Junction with his wife, Mindy, and is active in Delaware Valley Poets.

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