at brunch the waiter brings me a drink i did not order
frothed inside a tiny cup another hands me
the smallest fork dainty & infantile beside my
boyfriend’s full cutlery we go for milkshakes
& the cashier fetches a pink straw for the little lady
my womanhood a second & eternal childhood of its own
unequipped for black coffee or big spoons protected
from the world’s dangers by the ministrations of men
who sell me razors cast in pink for the tender skin
of my furred legs thinner pens for my little hands
steady curriculum to install me in my smallness
my damsel choreography to hold the door open
for the lady then follow me inside