The Economy of the Body

This body is not my home.

It is a barren husk.

A field ravaged for its crops.

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I did not ask for this:

Full breasts and a cavern for plunder,

A woman’s currency.

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But can I trade?

Exchange my coin for some other tender?

Or am I forever shackled to the rate of my gender?

Fixed, not variable.

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The economy of the body,

An invisible hand acting in its own self-interest.

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Do I get any credit?

Or must it be earned by those who have left me with debt?

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There is a lien on my home,

A debt that may never be paid.