You ask me in

You ask me in
because we are
in the middle of a
big conversation,
of what I have no
idea, except that
I don't really think
we are arguing
for a change.
You want to talk, so
I walk thru the door.
And there you are,
panties to ankles,
feet flat on the floor,
hands neatly folded,
knees are touching,
spine straight, chin up,
a placid porcelain doll
with perfect posture,
an obvious product of
polite potty training.
And then when I hear
such a dainty ploop,
all I can think of is
that you sure are
shitting pretty.