Instead of Aristophanes, she calls me sweetly Fanes, <br />she enters the outpost, gets out only when she wants, <br />wakes me up from sleep, prepares a divine supper, <br />puts on everything, great things, even milk of a bird: <br />eggs, schnitzel and shrimps, oysters from Maldives <br />ham and vitamins, this and that, «my son, tell yes <br />to metal music, no to metallic bombs of war! » <br /> <br />Beware of Mater Lysistrata, may pull your eyes out <br />she holds the gun for me, guards in my place for me, <br />as eagle checkiing around, if the chief comes to inspect <br />in case he catches me, sleeping warmly in my outpost. <br />Who's going to judge me? She will react at once: <br />She will call other moms, will form nine platoons, <br />to clog the roads, projecting breasts and shoulders. <br />cursing the TV canals, the mess found in the army. <br /> <br />No one can hold her back; she is a real servant <br />of six generations – answer of Sphinx’s question- <br />from grandgrandkids to grandgrandmons, here, <br />there; she is a female Don Quixote, not at all a hero, <br />invites friends around her and tells to all seriously: <br /> <br />Your weapons I’ll melt, laughter I’ll give you instead. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />© JosephJosephides<br /><br />Joseph S. Josephides<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mater-lysistrata/
