VERSE | THE ART OF TRAINING PRIMITIVE MAN

I walk down the street, my face set so 
The kind that threatens “Back off!” you know ..
Some also call it the Resting Bitch Face
I call it my Psychosocial Can of Mace

I will deny that I’m a lonesome brooder
Heck! I love life’s energy and sizzle
It’s just that as I’ve grown older … and crosser
My Crap Tolerance has all but fizzled

The thing is I now don’t take kindly to
Neanderthal stares when I am about
Eyeballs a-popping, dignity devolving
Seeing Homosapien man driving himself out!

I remember I used to look away before
The caveman crassness too much for me
Now I reward them, with stupendous contortions
Maybe add an unlovely squint or three

Here’s the ruse, these men are obtuse
They’ll only ever shake their tails
To the pretty demure, girl next door
A vibe that so many ladies emanate

So when they see, the prettiness flee
Leaving a facial mass of disturbing stuff
The caveman stands up, evolution catches up
The genteel one can’t look away fast enough!

So the next time, that you feel inclined
To give an avid ogler a fit resprise
Toggle the peeps, bare all your teeth
In a grimace fit for Franken-bride

And that ladies, is why you’ll find me
Walking serenely down the street
Until I’m in a parade, for the Staring Brigade
Then I unleash the power of the squint and the teeth.

(Amen to growing older, madder and wiser! 😉)

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