Reversible Baggage
In Backwards Land where ladies worship me,
And never cut my brilliant speeches short;
Where women celebrate adultery,
And feel the same as I; they’re merely sport;
Where broads don’t care how many kids I’ve got,
And care far less how many mothers by;
Where chicks acknowledge make-up makes ‘em hot,
And no mascara runs if bunnies die;
There, because then I’d be a perfect man,
Freed bulky baggage through which snoopers dig,
I’d rarely have to fear the frying pan
Greased up ‘n aimed at this chauvinist pig.
Ah, but a pipe-dream. How am I single?
Nevermind, dollies. Who wants to mingle?
1/30/17
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2017
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