30 plus years buying sanitary ware

and now I over-spend on medication;                       

a two-synth twin script                                              

reproducing oomph

that my over-worked ovaries

depleted.

 

30 plus years paying too much tax

on tampax, panty pads,          

and now I get to shell out                                                      

on extortionate hormones,   

or wallow chin-deep

in my sweat-soaked sheets.

 

30 plus years of daylight robbery,

the industry fleecing us from puberty.

And when our eggs peter out

and the scam is at an end,

the pharmacist smiles as he rings up the till,

charges us double for a therapy pill.

 

30 plus years of paying for the privilege

of sticky wings and accidents,

midnight massacres;

spendy exploitation of my gusset.

And now the dubious pleasure of lessening

the hot flush, defrauding me of hard cash;

the swindling of middle-aged women.

 

Populace control comes without a price,

you can pop a pill, prevent a baby boom;

wiggle on a johnny, have copper in your cunt,

be implanted, have a needle,

all for free.

But when it comes to basic needs,

to bleed or not to bleed

is not an option for half the population.

 

We are fiscally fucked

whichever way you look at it,

from knicker desecration to cessation of the blob,

we’re being robbed from the cradle to the grave.

 

Resist! Resist this embarrassment of shitness,

the privatization of collective menstruation,

this reliance on a gynonomic gift to the Exchequer.

Let’s have the bloody lot of it for free.

Yes

and that includes my fucking H.R.T.