sometimes I hate

Jason and his Argonauts,

the 1963 film with shrieking hideous

harpies, their bare-breasts

and turquoise hides.

natter, tatter, tear

scatter, batter, where

are my fucking underwear?

cunt, cum dumpster, whore

in women's studies, we call ourselves

and it itches, bitches, almost more

than idiotic idioms like: schmooze,

you lose & you're out of luck, schmuck

that I associate with oil refinery

and assholes.

It's almost as if we are the drunken disciples

of Dionysus, who revel amuck, devouring raw flesh

at the enigmatic all-girl-orgies that terrified the men

of ancient Greece enough to worship gorgons.

"She's only there to be boned, might as well

get stoned" said an insensitive


giggle, giggle, grin, develop dysphasia

again & offer a coquettish stretch of skin.

"Just be yourself," he fumed.