Women and Modernism

There was a young lady who baked a pie.

I know why she baked that pie,

Perhaps she’ll die.

There was a young lady who made some cider,

That proved to her man that she’d be a provider.

She made the cider to wash down the pie.

But I know why she baked that pie –

Perhaps she’ll die.

There was a young lady forbidden to be a nerd;

How absurd, not to be a nerd!

She yearned to be a nerd so to stop making cider

That proved to her man that she’d be a provider.

She made the cider to wash down the pie.

But I know why she baked that pie –

Perhaps she’ll die.

There was a young lady who became fat.

Imagine that, a child made her fat.

She became fat to stomp out the nerd…

She yearned to be a nerd so to stop making cider

That proved to her man that she’d be a provider.

She made the cider to wash down the pie.

But I know why she baked that pie –

Perhaps she’ll die.

There was a young lady who smothered in smog.

Her life was a haze of fog. 

She smothered in smog to burn off the fat…

She became fat to stomp out the nerd…

She yearned to be a nerd so to stop making cider

That proved to her man that she’d be a provider.

She made the cider to wash down the pie.

But I know why she baked that pie –

Perhaps she’ll die.

There was a young lady who couldn’t vote.

Opened her throat yet only to her man could she devote. 

She couldn’t vote so she smothered in smog …

She smothered in smog to burn off the fat…

She became fat to stomp out the nerd…

She yearned to be a nerd so to stop making cider

That proved to her man that she’d be a provider.

She made the cider to wash down the pie.

But I know why she baked that pie –

Perhaps she’ll die.

There was a young lady who made a vow

That her man would not allow. 

She made a vow to try and vote…

She couldn’t vote so she smothered in smog …

She smothered in smog to burn off the fat…

She became fat to stomp out the nerd…

She yearned to be a nerd so to stop making cider

That proved to her man that she’d be a provider.

She made the cider to wash down the pie.

But I know why she baked that pie –

Perhaps she’ll die.

There was a young lady who was met with brute force –

She’s dead, of course.

-J. K.

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