Pans in Rage
Where is the film
of the woman banging pans in rage
because her husband is late and the kids are fighting
or the man smiling because he caught the train
just in time
or the child fretting: he wants to play outside.
Instead, we get sex through a sheet
or the beautiful girl forced to marry
the acne-scarred stuttering clammy-fingered boy.
The films gloat
the proud secret glee of a tall, well-hung man.
If not this, then
a script bubbling with broad-mindedness
depicting warmth and love
within our closed in close knit circle
the spiritual highs
our mystical melodies and prayers
and the ecstatic frenzy
of male legs, kicking up a wedding dance
our lives romanticized
but just another sham
and though our busts swell with arrogance
we know. it’s bullshit.
When will they make a film of hasidim
frying eggs. buying shoes.