Men are sketchy: gusts of immateriality –
kindergarten
paste and chalk eraser dust –
women know men’s
breadth and length: they must
in order to manipulate
them in their realms of surreality –
all lost in dream.
Women are the scientists of scheme:
they see the
thing in front
for what it
is: they lightly bear the brunt
of men’s effrontery
as if it were a tiny gleam
in some frail
infant’s eye.
It’s a wonder
women deal with men at all.
Some women
don’t, of course. They let men brawl
in war and die. It’s a wonder any man gets by.
.
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