Ms. Man

Can do anything a man can

except the can-can

the do-whop in high tops

on her way to the nail shop.

The swerve of her curves makes the statement, “she’s got the nerve,”

to put him down like lit herbs,

begging for another chance, another turn.

She speaks eloquently, baits the conversation with latch and hook

that was encoded in her book

long before she was born to adorn

a soliloquy laced tongue found on a horn.

What Ms. Man can’t do is wrap strong arms her wounded soul

she needs him, where others weren’t quite so bold.

He is her quiet place, no need to shout

where she can stop being a man, of that, no doubt.

She has walked the walk and talked the talk,

and in her eyes, he is her golden hallmark.

© privatethoughtsmadepublic. 2017.

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2 thoughts on “Ms. Man

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