My response to an angry female poet

This angry female poet is storming on the stage
Performing tirades from her loose pages
In her war she feels courageous
And so she wages it for ages
Against
Men
Yeah,
You men
You petty little
Childish, fickle
Lager spittled
Bad men
And her material asks us to laugh at them,
These pathetic men
Mainly through the medium of 9 or 10 well timed cock jokes
There is laughter
And some gentle shifting from buttock to buttock between the blokes
Cos we can take the odd poke
We’re aware that the world is tough
The top 5% of earners in the country being male we agree is pretty rough,
I mean that 5% aren't actually any of us in this room,
But we still feel bad for that stuff
And so we sit it out, slightly relieved when she Lets up from her cheeky onslaught,
But before she leaves she insists
She wants to share one last thought,
Pulls out a dozen page epic poem and decides to report
As if it were fact
That men are the cause of all the world’s woes
Smile gone, she reads now as if entering combat
Her face pinker,
Her diatribe flows
Against the men
Again
The shallow men,
Callow men
Evil, twisted
Self absorbed
Serpent sword
dangling
No spinal cord
man thing
Suit clad,
Want ad,
scumbag
Mad men

And her words lash from toes to backs,
Across beards and ball sacks
And what started as a few little cracks
Is now a meaty attack
To the point that even the throng of tipsy ladies who were cheering at the back
Are quiet,
Conscious that something’s gone wrong
But the poet doesn’t care, she just carries on
While we’re all sat wondering where this hate has come from

Cos let me get this straight,
I am regularly a monumental prick
I’m too quick to judge,
I find it hard to commit,
I try screwing my courage to the sticking place, but that place hardly ever sticks
In life I lack direction,
Within seconds of learning people’s names I always seem to forget them
At times I’ve enough arrogance for the philharmonic brass section,
I eat nestle,
I don’t listen,
I’ve left countless piles of dirty washing up in my kitchen,
I place things in my black bin that belong in the green one
And so if her rant was about me,
It wouldn’t be a bad one
But it’s not
It’s a rant about
All men

And not all the men that I know are as weak as me
I know men with dignity,
Who act honestly,
Who live lives of integrity
Close friends
Who care about doing the right thing and not judging others
Who know that behind that bravado cover
We all get battered in the spirit and in the heart
But that pain is not to be blamed on an entire race, gender or class
And I know countless women I respect whose values are the same
Perhaps then we're more similar than some would like to complain

And so while the angry female poet is still storming on the stage
Performing a tirade from her loose pages
In her war she feels courageous
I’d discreetly like to say this

I don’t think you need a dick
To be a dick
I think sometimes you just need a microphone,
An audience
And some wounds you want to lick.