Grey shadows are platforms from which foliage sings;
they speak of men,
who for reasons unknown delude their wits
I wonder, in what way
is that aesthetically or morally pleasing?
Before I really begin the project,
I have a few fragments of thought
that urged me to do this—
a different sort of impromptu that poetry excels at,
less Dionysian spur-of-the-moment with an already
concluded refrain entwined to a perfect enso,
as quick as the poisoning
of Geoffrey Baratheon, I confess,
horrible as it was, I actually chuckled at the scene.
“I am tough, I am ambitious, and I know exactly
what I want,” says a woman
in a gathering full of men, do they applaud?
Of course not.
They stopped taking her seriously the minute
they laid eyes on the chic attire
in which she’d arrived; I ask you,
what difference does it make if we wear heels
instead of boots?
And if you attack them by innuendo,
you will be sued for libel;
do you see the numerous ways in which
the ground covering is sparse—
I wish they’d just treat us as rational beings.
Crush us, objectify us,
go ahead try and discriminate us,
in this hot weather,
the sun is our hearth, we can arrange
our chairs in any way we want to—
one need not be an ardent feminist to tear down
the misogynist wall;
the misogynist wall, the misogynist wall.
The hour has come.
Photo credits: Mae West by Salvador Dali, Pinterest
Posted for Open Link Night #325: And so the story goes @dVerse Pub