Odd Fellows

Wishy-washy men,
no thanks.
They don’t know
what they want
or have to offer.
How can I?

Tired, morose; led astray
by topsy-turvy men.
Get a tension grip
on reality’s main stream,
bathe in bubbles
of self-inflicted bliss.

Frustrated, disillusioned
once too often.
Upsy-daisy men
make me aspire to
escape the lunacy
and seek nun’s quarters.

Had enough.
Hibernation holds appeal.
Dig into goose feathers
without down-and-out-men.
Revel in fluffy solitude;
my own warmth satisfies.

Won’t participate
or be a conquest
in games of trickery.
Won’t nourish the self-fed egos
of namby-pamby men,
not fit for a woman’s fancy.

Why complicate life
with the false charms
and insincere pledges
of scoundrels cloaked
in besmirched red capes.
Who needs these not-so-super-men?