Father Knows Best

Shouting frantic hyperbole 

over some non-existent attack 

on the right to bear arms, 

while what you truly came for 

was the right to their womb 

The thief in the night, 

the snake oil salesman, 

the father who still thinks 

he knows best 

Sixty-seven years later, 

the television sitcom, 

still the perfect title 

for the poison of patriarchy 

Father Knows Best, 

you've always convinced yourself, 

as you reminisce of the days 

when your TV screen was 

black & (heavy on the) white

 

Father Knows Best, 

how to run your segregated 

nineteen fifties life, 

your quaint little home, 

closet doors kept tightly shut 

Father Knows Best 

how to sit in his easy chair, 

newspaper in hand, 

and demand obedience 

Twenty-years before 

Jane Roe's left hook 

sent Henry Wade 

and all of Dallas County 

to the mat 

When you came to, 

you were bruised and scarred 

from the knockout blow, 

the court having the audacity 

to tell you someone's uterus 

did not belong to you, 

You’ve been plotting 

your revenge ever since 

Father Knows Best, 

you still declare, 

even decades into 

the 21st century 

Father Knows Best 

about fallopian tubes 

he does not have, 

about a clitoris 

he never even bothers 

to find 

Father Knows Best, 

as you continue to glorify 

the father of your country, 

who thought he could own 

and control the entire bodies 

of hundreds of humans 

Father Knows Best, 

The father of your party 

grabbed 'em by the pussy 

and you decided you had 

the right to do the same 

Father Knows Best, 

say four thousand three hundred 

ninety-two Catholic Priests 

I guess fathers still can't 

keep their hands to themselves 

24 Oct 2021

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