I returned the comic book
to the store.
“Sorry, I don’t care for
refrigerator women.”
Sticking us in the freezer,
defining “frigidity,”
making martyrs of the “meats.”
“Sorry, I can’t read this.”
Some superhero sidepiece
broke her neck in the final pages,
but he’s okay
he’s back on his feet again.
“Yes, I’d like a refund.”
Love interest “babe”
kept her looks,
kept her form,
kept her emotional regulation.
“My own fault,
I should’ve know better.”
They always said
we belonged
in the kitchen.
By Kallen Mohr
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