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.
