Don’t come to me during work hours or at home
deliberately wearing so tight fitting, so low-cut a dress
baring your Double D expecting not this lump –
this rude fellow with no will or brains
from growing stiff and long, I am only human –
a loaded gun is very dangerous;
this is coercion, this is a crime.
But Law only grin in mock tone:
“Duh, it doesn’t happen; women don’t –
talk dirty, grope, assault, sexually molest
their neighbors or workmates
It’s a Y chromosome thing!”
She’s got this “IT-CAN’T BE HER” power –
a habit and making of society
I can say “Nay, nay, nay and nay!”
cry harassment, rape or batter,
but how much is true, how much is false
depends only on her assertion, on her claim.
When you speak out, when you complain
you’re quick to be judged a weakling,
your kind only respond with predictable drivel:
“You should feel flattered, she picked you out!
Take your turn and pass the ball.’’
When will I’ve this POWER?
This power to wail and be heard?
Copyright © 2019. Ugo Nkwoala. All rights reserved.