My twisted sisters

Where I live there are parades,
three daily panty hose parades down main street,
morning, noon, and late afternoon,
a pleasure to behold,
a joyous carnival,
it’s the  “Puttin’ on and Struttin’ Parade”,
however, men are not supposed to watch,
or make any obviously delirious comments,
it’s politically and dangerously incorrect,
watching with admiration is sexist.

Still I have asked my self,
“self, why are those women wearing all those fine things,
glittering with costume bling,
perched on stiletto heels, and
more makeup than a Barnum and Bailey Circus dressing room,
if they are not struttin’ their stuff, what are they doing”,
it’s a quandary.

I whistled once at a gorgeous blonde,
really thought she was a beauty, until
she opened her mouth, called me asshole, and
used her middle finger to demonstrate her level of intelligence,
but wait, brunettes, and reds do the same thing,
I guess they too are proud of their Revlon nail polish,
show offs.

I never call a woman names unless she asks me to,
or use hand signs, that would be ungentlemanly,
I have too much respect for the opposite sex, and
I have come a conclusion: there is not a gentleman among them.

Ladies, my twisted sisters,
a smile and a thank you,
makes you beautiful.

©2011, Donald Harbour