It was a dream I had last week And some kind of record seemed vital. I knew it wouldn’t be much of a poem But I loved the title.
We men have love well weighed up; our stuf Can get by without it. Women don’t seem to think that’s good enough; They write about it, And the awful way their poems lay them open Just doesn’t strike them. Women are really much nicer than men: No wonder we like them
I’ ll rouge my cleavage, flaunt myself, my heels
will be perilously high, oh
but I won’t sway.
I’ll shrug everything off the shoulder,
make wisecracks, be witty off the cuff.
Tell blue jokes in mixed company.
I’ll be a bad lot.
I’ve a brass neck. There is mayhem in my smile.
No one will guess it’s not my style.
Amintire din 14.01.07