Clean, cook, father and fuck
So the world seems to think
That I am turning my back
On my chance
To clean, cook, father and fuck
Or at least these are the terms
In which my father lay out my future
If I did not follow the revolution
And stake everything on his version
Of evolution
So he was right that I
Am incapable of making a living
But he was wrong in assuming
That a form of prostitution
Or devotion to his Marxist religion
Were my only alternatives
My way or the highway
He said as he threw away my puppet theatre
I told him that I would be protected
By the welfare state
Because of the mental illness
He would inflict on me
He described this as a reformist fantasy
Well the irony is he destroyed his own dream
His psychotic arrogance the unravelling of
His scheme
Clean, cook, father and fuck
Id rather read another book
Povey 2013