Nailed to the blistered courtyards or frowsy flats or field
Or tap-tapping office tables are a docile breed
Partly human, partly alien, called women
They are a missing limb or ten
Of infinite glorious family trees
That drop them every time they sneeze
They avoid meeting your groping eyes or benign hands etc.
On pavements, local trains, or sundry fenestra
Carrying sprays or knives for defence and later
split themselves up neatly and cater
to mortal hungers of all kind
and never, ever, ever mind
that they are a polished, solid pedestal
to show off, lift up and uphold celestial
objects like men
Ah – men!
Some or all like me, loiter
In dreams on moonbeams
Sleep alone on stone
Slabs and wish the sore and stiff
Backs were from gazing at the moon, Only if!
The submission is a part of the International Women’s Day Celebration 2022 by Rhyvers Media Group
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