Women

 
 
How could I live with a woman?
They take over every room and habit
And everything I do
Is subject to
A kind of long cynical criticism and moaning no matter what I did, without any discussion.

And then there’s how I snore
And they don’t. No really.
Or fart. I’m forever forgiving
And forgetting and being chilled out about
And not seeing how her excessive makeup wouldn’t look good on a trout.

And don’t get me started
On the constant insistence on being part of
Every aspect of my life
Even though she professes
To hate and despise all of it and not like my friends or my drinking habits.

And then there’s sex.
All the faffing about getting her going.
Stupid things like candles and
The right sort of over priced restaurant.
And being treated like a lady even though she’s a feminist and everything I do is always wrong.

I’d rather the company of blokes.
Tell it straight. Joke or no joke.
Be honest and accept each for what they are.
People fart. That’s the way they are.
No constant reassessment of who we are by the moment according to where we are.

Women meet you and like you and then
If you’re lucky they love you and that’s the end,
Because they’ll then devote themselves
To changing you into the someone else
That they really wanted but couldn’t find but you had the cash and seemed malleable enough.

And yet.
To watch a pretty woman work her wiles
Is like watching the sun rise over a beautiful landscape.
As shadows rise and fall and colours wax and wane
And wide eyed glances undermine any pretense of mine at defence.
I confess I’m a complete sucker for a pretty face.
There’s nothing I can do.
Women rule the world
And us men are mere putty
At the sight of creamy thigh
Or breast, and all the rest.
So who’s the fool?
 
 

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