Gene Moutoux's Poetry

The Chauvinist

He looked like a god with his aquiline nose,

As he strode ‘cross the room with a smile,

Accosted her just as she gracefully rose

To straighten her hose, I suppose.

 

With compliments many and idiom bland,

According to Rome’s latest style,

He thought she was easy, and his to command.

He pictured his brand on her hand.

 

Alas, our gallant was a chauvinist punk,

Who was loaded with cant and with guile.

He was not, she discovered, a benignant hunk,

But a bigot who stunk like a skunk.

 

For she got him to say, I quote word for word

(She’d suspected the same all the while):

"This damned women’s rights thing is really absurd."

Thus spoke undeterred our lovebird.

 

The next thing he said was, "Let’s jump into bed;

Courtship is so juvenile."

Quoth she, his antithesis, much better bred,

"Not if you constantly pled until dead.

 

"Take all your ideas, get in a canoe,

Put in at the mouth of the Nile.

Then paddle until you espy Timbuktu.

I’ll say yes when a gnu swallows you."

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