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when I am old I shall wear
irregular mismatched pearls in my ears and cover my head in a shimmering gold turban and men will flatter me by trying to guess my age and I will cackle obscenely saying to them: "you are wrong my pets for I am far, far older" and they, being men will grow angrier and bolder and try once more, vainly, for all men must win at their games and so guessing, they will guess my age failing once more and I will nod to the contrary, smile beguilingly, saying: "I am older than Mother Earth herself... and I am born but not of woman..." and the men will laugh roughly, thinking I have had too much white wine to drink or that I am nothing but a foolish, stupid woman and then they will swallow hard their dark brown whiskeys and look into my beautiful face with scorn and speak with sneers in their voices for all men like to be filled with the power of their outrage and ire and they will thunder in a chorus at me: "woman, you try our patience wearily we tire of your vanity..." it is then when I will: remove my shimmering turban to reveal my hissing slithering hair and they shall immediately recoil and become altered then they shall pay tribute to my uncommon beauty with their mute praise and their frozen forever stares and I shall add them happily to my statuary collection for my lovely home garden on my far off island and afterwards I will begin immediate plans for my next all-male dinner party. Copyright September 1 2014 All Rights Reserved By This Author Meloo /Melissa A Howells Straight from her Tilt-a-World (copyright) All Poetry/Prose/Rants/Ideas are the legal Property of this Writer This idea suddenly occurred to me yesterday and I finished it up today. Edited 9/22/2014 2:33pm All Rights Reserved By This Author Thank you for Reading. Medusa and I had such great fun. Vote for this poem |
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