Hymen

Men picket at the doors of hymens
No-one can enter unless a,b,c
When the door is broken by an unruly stranger
And mummy’s china plates make mosaics
When it says hello to the kitchen floor
And a shrill carries itself across a hallway
A new life has ended
Like the reversal of the opening of a bud
No light available
Privatised and sold at exploited prices
This hymen became the share that lost its value
Its bankers pull at their hair, foreheads lined deep
Trying to get rid of stock en masse, whatever the price

This hymen became the share that lost its value
When will our time come, when we own our own bodies?

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