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