22nd April 2014

Sonnet 133

Big Russian doll she broke let out a groan,

It was her father-in-law's (she was me),

Left in the room to stand disgraced, alone,

Scared of his temper - was this her to be?

Initially glad to be spousetaken,

Husband monopolisations ingrossed

Her inner babydoll; left forsaken

The maiden: dread spinster's rubicon crossed.

At heart of course she was still Mummy's warde,

A Mum's heart is always daughter's best bale,

Dead yet, yet beating inside her, her garde:

This inheritance used to be her jail.

So she tells him "Yes, your son's pent in thee,

Like I was in she - now she's pent in me".