La Femme Parade

The masks come off. The gloves go on, so's now we see, t'was ever hid...neath smile that veil, a shrug's suggest, a painted clown's puerile, written on her face, deep crevices of asphalt war! 

So now, the hamstrung harpies having home...to wait, upon a mate they hate, need do no more. Let his, beneath that yonder bridge round burn barrel be, mans fate, for we are 'feminist's, who rank divine...we think! 

Ours are worlds to run, not his, let he, the brats of nightly chore, of morning kiss, then, manage off to yellow bus, for it is time to bare our breasts, to show the world what we are! 

Embittered earthly goddesses, full fallen on hard times...lusting for the power of the witch's hame we lost, nor ever have the chance, so fine again, to make mans lot...a drudge!


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: a painted woman, google art