The Brothel

She looked in the mirror,
Noticing with regret,
That her breasts continued to sag,
Her stomach dropped over her knickers.
Having children is hard on the body,
She thought.

We must keep them from putting a brothel in our town,
Referring back to a conversation of the day before.
It could be too great a challenge for our men,
For my man.

She grasped for excuses,
But few could be found.
“This is a ‘family-oriented’ community” was one angle,
She was too intelligent to believe this herself,
As she knew that many families,
many relationships,
were started in brothels.
That excuse might do for the less enlightened,
She thought,
Smiling.

“Brothels will increase crime”,
She thought with a grin.
She had no proof for this statement,
But what did it matter?
Some would buy into it.
Fortunately,
A similar argument had not been made when the casino came to town,
As she herself loved gambling.

“There is no history of brothels in our town” –
This one she liked.
It had the weight of history,
And the most simple-minded fall back on the status quo.
It didn’t matter if she had researched the matter or not,
For she knew they would not either.

So much fear that her husband would be tempted,
She did not consider those without partners,
With no one for physical contact.
She did not consider their difficulties in having to go to another town,
To satiate the desire for contact with another person.
Her needs were paramount,
Theirs were irrelevant.

She feared what she saw as a threat,
She did not consider the possibility,
That any of these people could be compassionate,
That any of these people might be driven by the same motivation,
Which led her to counsel others all those years ago.

Her disgust for her own body,
Was projected onto them.
Her insecurities about her sexual abilities,
Were channelled into her trumped up sense of a good cause.

She looked in the mirror,
Noticing with regret,
That her breasts continued to sag . . .

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
21 February 2013