An Emancipated Woman

We single woman, divorced or never married
living alone in suburbs or in cities
have to put up with a lot of nonsense.
I'll give you an example.

Today's one of those days in Baytown
when there's not a cloud in the sky.
A blue northern swept them beyond South Padre Island.
And so I take the opportunity to relieve myself of cabin fever,
tan my face, and manicure the lawn as I may be inspired.

Two houses down from where my homestead sits,
there's a couple, who between them,
should weigh no less than 50 Cambodian orphans.
It's just a fact, I mock them not. We all must bear crosses.
Still, it should be fun to watch them,
shoulder to shoulder attempt to exit the kitchen.
What he has in gut, she has in butt, a lot of lard overlapping.
In Australian, the little lady would be described
as five ax handles across the acre.

They do not say hello to me, we do not greet each other.
It may or not have something to do with color
as they are gray and I am red, add an infusion of hot cocoa.
Be that as it may, I'm happy to be an introvert.

Well, this is the deal. Can not say for sure
if it be lust, prejudice or neighborly curiosity,
but every time I step into my yard,
it seems the male of the pear is there to watch me,
his arms akimbo, a stance that strikes me rather weirdo,
Or is it me, paranoia the product of my hermit living?

How nice the weather, disregard.
Today, I'm feeling edgy.
It's happy birthday time. At midnight, I'll turn 37.
No cause to be alarmed, I'm hoping to reach a hundred and something.
Age and wrinkles I do not fear, it's the period that's gone missing.
A fortnight and not a drop of blood,
and no man on whom to blame a pregnancy,
for my maiden head is still intact and I may well die cherry.
I'm not complaining and sure as hell neither am I boasting.

So here's the deal,
Fatso two houses down,
the creep, he still is staring.
I've mowed the lawn. I've said my prayers,
and now I'm feeling kinda crazy.
"Genug ist genug," Enough is enough!
Alright, already... to give it a Yiddish accent!

I rush back into the house,
bound the stairs up to the linen closet,
where I keep a snub nose 38,
and with it, take another accessory for hunting.

Back out to the yard as quick as I left,
I take my post to see how the action might develop
Yep, he's still out there in fascist pose a la Benito Mussolini.
The gun is just in case the gentleman thinks of playing silly.
This is the West where cowboys ride
and up to recent we had lynchings.
I have a clear advantage, though.
This I know, his four eyes are no match for my Japanese binoculars.

So here we be, the pig and Gwen,
a face off in East Texas.
Let's see who's dignity faints.
It surely won't be the Steel Virgin's,
who the puts the target in her sights,
then flags him ladylike,
"Howdy neighbor, behold the royal finger!"

The view is clear,
the chap is clearly twitching.




or as I said it might be paranoia