Smack Your Bloke Up

for me to thrash your face into a pulp,

now shut your bagel-hole, you vole-brained trollop,”

so my marshmallow of desire should gulp,

the sisterhood would gather for the lynch

since it’s a sin to turn your lover victim,

to reduce your sweetheart to a flinch.

But Man has cause to feel that something’s tricked him,

as many girls think it’s pure Missus Pankhurst

and a blast of liberated strength

to flip the switchboards in their minds and slap first,

a grand belittling snip of phallic length,

as though to have a heart that’s cruel and shady

is the rightful province of the lady.

You’re not a blameless baby,

and if you sink to raising fists to me,

I’ll kick your head in. That’s equality.