It’s hard to tell if temperamental, nasty shits

Are bossed around because they are shits

Or they are shits because they are bossed around.

The successful appear benign

When there is plenty of wine.

And because they have what they need,

Are the rulers without greed?

When is it okay to say the oppressed,

Because they are so, are not as good as the rest?

I have noticed, when I normally walk about

If anyone walks into a woman, she completely flips out,

Even if it’s another woman, but a guy,

If his wife should accidentally veer

Into his space, treats it with good cheer,

Even as an excuse for a hug or a quick kiss.

But she acts like something is totally amiss.

A woman’s space is everything,

And when she lets you in,

This is how she expresses love;

A guy wants sex; the woman lets him in,

Not for sex—because if the secret be told,

Women pretend to like sex much more than they do—

It’s like when you host a party,

And opening the door when guests arrive,

Makes you happy and thrilled—

For women it’s about the occasion,

It’s about opening the door.

The love I describe is this—and nothing more.















  1. Mr. Woo said,

    June 29, 2017 at 11:45 pm

    They Say

    Poets, musicians, painters,
    They say you’ve had them all;
    Tenors in the parlor,
    Piano in the hall,
    Admiration bartered
    Framed on the wall.
    Though there’s one darling,
    One lip-starved starling,
    You favored over all.
    A heart, in love, you loved
    To teach to fall
    More than the rest,
    To grade the beast
    Inside his chest.
    Poets, musicians, painters,
    You held their every call…
    And though the one you held the best
    Is lost, you are not lost,
    Not a little, not at all.

    • thomasbrady said,

      June 30, 2017 at 1:51 pm

      A gem. Thank you, Mr. Woo!

      • Mr. Woo said,

        June 30, 2017 at 8:10 pm

        You’re welcome. I live to woo.

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