Secret Life – a poem

Her dishwater hands give her boredom away
She’s always at work and never at play
Her life is a schedule, a doubtful routine
With washing and ironing and keeping things clean

The husband’s at work and the kids are at school
She’s done all her chores and feels like a fool
When she lifts the receiver and answers the call
To a lonely old man who wants to feel small

“Madame Dominatrix” is her pseudonym
She earns extra cash, acting harsh, on a whim
All her frustrations laid bare to a stranger
Whilst sat in her rollers, avoiding the danger

She doesn’t feel part of the sex industry
When she shouts and commands to her clients, for a fee
To her it’s ‘pin money’ for a life that is better
So she groans and she yells whilst the callers get wetter

Whilst her family’s oblivious to their Mum’s secret life
They enjoy all the treats and avoid any strife
Life’s always so calm and she’s in control
Her life is in boxes, as she plays out her roles

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