An old lady chimes in on gendering #poem #poetry #gender

A poem about the current State of Things

Who gets to decide if I am a woman?

A wrinkled baby with thin, fine hair -
More “old man” than girl -
They femmed me up just so
You could tell
And I would learn
That even though
My name is Jo
I am the weaker sex.
That other one
Bad at math
(“Math is hard” - Barbie)
Emotional.
Dainty.
Demure.
Ask my brother if I was. He’ll set you straight.

Who gets to judge if I was doing “woman” right?
With my short hair and jeans.
Holding hands with my long haired boyfriend
“Can’t tell the boys from the girls anymore.”
We managed, just fine.
(Which also pissed them off.)

Who makes the rules about older women?
Out:
Long hair
Bright makeup
Sleeveless tops

If I can’t show off my tattoo, what was the point in getting it?

And now? Forget “dust to dust”
The baby who looked like Pop-Pop
(girl or boy)
Looks like Pop-Pop again
(man or woman)
Only now we all have boobs
Except some of us, who used to.

Looking “femme” at my age
Requires gender-affirming care
Hormones, salon visits, a special wardrobe.
Which some people think is a terrible thing, so don’t go there!)

So who gets to decide? Who gets to judge? 
I think you can guess.
And don’t get between me and the ladies’ room.

12/16/2024