For Real Toads: parental guidance suggested

I'm pretty sure I have no under-age blog followers or even under-age Facebook friends, but my subject today might spark a bit of indignation. I'm hoping it sparks indignation of the right kind, of course, but don't read it if you think you're going to get annoyed with me.

Robert Burns

I don't jump up and down and get real controversial about a lot of things any more except the biggies: War. Peace. Children's rights. Women's rights. Aboriginal rights. Canadian rights. Canadian children's rights. Canadian women's rights. Canadian aboriginal women's rights. Canadian aboriginal children's rights. Whales. Baby seals. Old-growth forests. Wild salmon. You know, the biggies.

This poem is in response to Kerry's mini-challenge today to the writers' group Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, using a poetic form used by one of my favorites: Robbie Burns, in his To a Mouse poem. (I love Burns and always have, with three out of four Scottish grandparents.)
Kerry also pointed us toward the Undelivered Mail poem of Rhina P. Espaillat. It is just wonderful. Do check it out.

Rhina P. Espaillat

With those two things in mind, I wrote the first line of the following poem without really thinking of very much except my headache, which has plagued me along with blurry vision for some months. (My ophthalmologist is working on it.) The second line followed more or less without thought, too, and then the whole thing was in my head demanding to be written. Demands like this can be a good thing or a bad thing for a writer. For me, headache or no headache, I have to go with it, because I'm slowly but surely emerging from a lengthy case of writer's block and will grasp at any and all opportunities if I can.

One line in my poem says "the law changed" and it did, in the 1980s in Canada, but there are still some countries where the law favors the husband. I would like to see these kinds of laws changed in favor of the wife, in all countries.
*

Dear sobbing, sighing, weeping sister:

Do not waste time on yon weak mister!

(He makes love a weapon against her.

Even though she says no,

Still he’ll insist and claim his pleasure

Is his right, that it’s so.)

*

Dear arrogant, superior male:

You are probably going to jail

Perhaps to stay there without bail.

Your wife? Yes, the law changed.

Wives are entitled to rights as well.

It’s all been rearranged.

*

Dear lawyer, won’t you tell the jury:

Don’t they see I was in a hurry?

I don’t know why my wife should worry

About a little sex!

She’s making such a fuss and fury

Our lives will now be wrecks.

*

Dear Judge: In our police department

We’ve reserved a whole compartment

For complaints against this defendant

Brought by his poor wife,

When she tries to be independent,

He threatens with a knife.