Middle Class Witches
We are not so different.
You don’t work. Neither do I.
We both wanted children to keep our man happy. We expected it to mean forever. That the word is bond.
You live in Remuera in your big mansion, I live up the hill overlooking you in Orakei. We share the same view.
You drive a Mercedes and it guzzles gas, I drive a Mazda-bator and it leaks oil.
We drive the same road you and I. The same side. The same direction. Under the same rules.
You are happily a beneficiary of your husband and his labour. I am reluctantly a beneficiary of the State, the taxpayer and theirs.
You go to lunch with your friends by the water, drink champagne and nibble at salad and woodfire pizza. I have lunch on my lawn overlooking the water with my mates drinking beers from the bottle shop and pizza from the Pizza Hut.
Your friends compliment Parnell resident John Key and how he’s getting on. My friends and I discuss how lucky John Key is that he couldn’t get pregnant while living in a State House.
When you need help you call the cleaner, the gardener, the plumber and the nanny. I can only call my mother and she can’t help today. She says sorry.
You worry about your kids getting into Kings. I worry about my kids getting to school at all.
Your kids get to go to Kings. If Housing NZ decided to move us, mine could go next door to Otahuhu.
If my children work hard they could sit next to yours at University. The same place.
You worry about your husband working late, not getting home and helping you with the kids. My man was at the pub with his friends as well.
You worry about your husband and the new secretary. I worry about my man and the next woman just like me.
Your husband says sorry with diamonds and holidays. My man beats me and the children and I leave.
Will you when he treats you badly?
Or will you stay for the money? The prestige? To just not be like me. Alone with children.
You leave and get half of everything you haven’t earned and gain the sympathy of your friends. I leave and have to go to welfare and gain the disdain of the nation.
We are not so different.
You and I.