Widow of Women’s Lib
I am a widow of women’s lib
I married the movement not just for me
But to fuck the good old patriarchy!
We were so anti capitalist, anti couple
It was def PC to be a thrupple
And I was so bent on living independently
I took it all so literally
Forgot to get me a partner or a property
It’s a bit late now
Besides the movement is dead
So I’m a widow of women’s lib
I’m a spinster, I’m a modern day crone
I’m not complaining, I like being alone
But how can this happen, how can it be
That 400,000 women just like me
Could be homeless tomorrow, out on the street
Without proper shelter, nothing to eat
And those in their comfy homes, putting up their feet
And tut-tutting themselves to sleep, saying
She could have tried harder to make ends meet
She was living in a dream world
I’m a widow of women’s lib
I gave my all to the movement and where has it gone?
Where are the communes, the groovy old folks homes
For artists and musos and people who write poems?
The old revolutionaries, the die-hard bohemes?
What happened to their heart felt dreams?
What happened to all our great ideals?
We were going to be so different, or so we said
Sharing and caring and freedom for all
At what point did the fantasy start to stall?
And can we even admit that, after all
We gave in to the cult of the individual?
I’m widow of women’s lib
I’m a widow of my era
I became my own hero
Overcame all the obstacles thrown at me
At menopause, took the chance to set myself free
I’ve been a solo agent for a decade times three
Does it get lonely? you want to ask
Well sometimes it does but it doesn’t last
Cos if feminism has taught me anything
It’s how to have agency in everything
Although in the middle of the night I must admit
When fear of the future has me in its grip
I’m reassured that, nest egg or not, rich or poor
It don’t make any difference when you’re at heaven’s door
What it will mean is —
I’ll be a widow no more.
(c)Jan Cornall August 2025
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