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
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.
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