Sometimes a girl turns on men,
Without provocation or clear intent
- after everything nice she's done for them!,
and nobody knows what causes it.
The men will be standing there, open-mouthed
with their innocent eyes agog like "wow"
disbelieving in what they just clearly saw.
How
could she just turn on
us all?
Well, guys. It's like this.
Your eyes agog and your mouth agape
and your he and haw and your wolf
crying crocodilian tears too late
in your imitation sheepskin suits,
calling out every cat that appears to be
slinking its way past innocently, or trying to,
or pretending to, as if
they don't know what that will do
- what was wrong, the men ask,
with how it has ever been? They ask,
of the girl who has turned on men.
But she cuts them cold, and turns on
one heel, to leave. But the men
won't let her go.
An ugly scene. As her heart rises
into her throat to scream, they're
surrounding her, every day, one
by one: demanding to know what they
have done. Say hi! they spit.
Say it back to me! I said it to you.
I was friendly, what did I do
to you? You bitch, you cow
I believe they will have
their answer now
2 comments:
Somehow I missed commenting on this when you wrote it, but I stumbled across it during my lunch break today. I am not sure there is much more to say than what the poem says itself. I like the power behind this poem, and it stands out from some of my other favorites on your blog. Well done.
Thank you. This one...turned very grim.
Of course it did.
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