The Misogynist

He loaded up the salami and boloney sandwich
With hot mustard and jalapeno peppers,
Picked up the newspaper
Reading about the recent decrease in
Domestic violence in Russia,
Only because it’s not reported,
Fine, he thought,
Who cares about Russian women anyway,

Riding down Southwest Trafficway
On his new Harley Fatboy
He ogled the young girl
In the restored ’69 Mustang,
Pulled up next to her at the stop sign at
Ward Parkway,
Putting his hand on her car door,
Nice car, he said,
She drove off taking his hand with her,

Picking up his golf bag
He left the house in an uproar,
Smitty would be waiting for him as usual
So they could talk about how
Really screwed up women are,
They wiped off the shaft of their putters,
Washed their balls,
Only to find a foursome of chattering women
Teeing off in front of them,

Out in the workshop
The latest copy of Pantyhose Magazine
Laid sealed in its plastic wrapper
Next to the ’39 Buick grill,
He thought about how the car would look,
“When he got her the way he wanted her”,
How he would take her for a spin,
Knowing this lady would do what he wanted
With no backtalk and no expectations.