The 50 foot International Woman

You old oppressor, you are right to fear Her,
For She has risen from her thousand year slumber.
After a fitful sleep, while her boys beat each other bloody,
She could no longer deny the call.
That sweet siren song, good old Betty.
She woke up, fifty foot broad, with a snort and a stomp
She crumbled his kitchen with a stride out the door.
And reclaimed Her own property with each step on the earth,
Righting old wrongs and breathing courage into her girls skirts.
“Dame, you’ve gotta lotta nerve walking in here”
Her strong bare foot landed squarely down. A gentle rumbling shift, as the land moved to meet her.
“Oh my sweet boy, let me take care of this mess. Hand me that broom, and you hold the pan. I have a plan.”
“You do? Does it involve squishing me?
Her belly laugh is still ringing across Her hill and vale.
“No, my sweet boy, I’m not you. Now hand me that broom. We have some work to do.”


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