Yet there are girls, girls everywhere. (Man in the media, Pt 2.)

Yet there are girls, girls everywhere. (Man in the media, Pt 2.)

Wise men, they say, set up catchment dams in strategic areas and varied locations. Such as in shopping malls and in restaurants. Designed to capture the flow of some women's resources and that of their men's hard-earned dough ray. Not me though.

But that of those men who for whatever reason would have happened to wind up with them, and you. You know. With those happy go lucky high heels sneakers who are hitching a ride on those woe men weaker. Sex on the go, gone to meet her. The downhill siders sliding to go get bed-down with those other woe to men dames. On the glide in. To go fight for the rights of the name, and the writings, the right thing.

But the man is not there tonight no. Just his woman and her girlfriends bright so. Yes, his wife and oh so many of them. They are there chit-chatting and laughing and advising. Dishing out those advices and lifelong gained insight when, then. Cause they are valued over yours, their husbands, right! Yeah, every time. Nice hey? Yay!

Even though none of them sitting there with her on the hanging line chair, you know. The chair over on the corner there and telling the hell out of what she needs to be doing in there. Yes, her own home sphere, one shoe in, and in her family. The other, and to her husband, the brother. Him, one out, especially so.

Even though none of them sitting with her there has got a husband of theirs. No, none of their very own to wear. Definitely not that sort of a good one to keep and care. Well, a few of them did. They had, at one point of the year, on the hid. Or another, and kids too, and keep it hidden. But not anymore, no brother, no kidding. Not sure what’s the matter? What’s the reason for this I wonder?

Another few of them have got their many children. But by their other women’s many men and borrowed husbands, and the brother. Over there in the clubhouse, yonder. Their favorite places to meet-up for prayer, Sunday morning propaganda. All they ever get to hear over there is how they must wait, and don't. Like, don’t date.

Don't do this, and don't do that, ever. But never what to do, no my brother, never. Even while they are there waiting on queue and in the pew. Anticipating your coming through, no? No need to do anything, in order to be a bit more prepared for it. You know, that thing even. When it comes running into them. Yeah, that very thing for which they are there waiting.

But there's no need to. And why? Well, because. They were born like that, well-equipped and ready to attack. Already knowing all of the sheets that they will ever need to spread the bed. Then go fluff the pillow up under the head. It’s all done got good and patted down. All that is to be known, along with high heel sneakers and hot combs. And dressing out the curves of wedding gowns. And thing and ting but... cut?

To show that you are mine, though. Go walk the line. In toe. Go.

By E Lloyd Kelly. 2020/05/13. #poemsofthetimes Thank you.