Saturday, November 24, 2012

56-year-old women are blast furnaces

they can never wear wool again

so I've been instructed

so I won't make a coarse remark again

oh you can never understand!

that's right...empathy won't do...

you burn in a hot flash as if

it were vindication of your  crone-hood

oh such demands our minus sides make

that pluses seek the randy comradeship

of gangily pigeon toed obasiance

to the fresh sweet power of a sister-sweat

and touch on skin smooth

as leather on the seat

oh we menses will our crude git-er-done power surges

lost awkward and rattled in reflection

considering the invisible chain

that binds us to her wrist

rule by divine right of cunt

and we asswipes with pubs dangling

rage in our subjugation

and wimper on the comfortable breast...

and at 56...oh MOM...lay it out

your daughters have yet to learn

and so do their dumb young stags

the nonsense never ends...the sideshow

or hotel room or quiet mounted bed

has been known to douse many fires...(you figure how...)

Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.

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