Tiny Digits Poem by John Sensele

A man of wisdom steers away from the fury
Brewing in a woman who the lad crosses in a hurry
When bereft of wisdom the lad squeezes her toes
Treats her with neither respect nor dignity hoping his foes
His foibles, his blunders, his plunders, his seas of idiocies
His absurdities, his iniquities, his duplicities, his idiosyncrasies
Vanish when the woman in her heart exercises her mercy
Virtue to look the other way, to turn the other cheek when Percy
Seething with impotent anger, sensing the heat of her rancour
Sneaks onto a soapbox to unleash invectives hoping succour
Would descend like manna from on high but the lass bites
His puny pride, nibbles at his machismo while her sights
Soar over his pate. Fed up with the status quo, her spirits
Buoyed up by faith and love rise beyond the ambit of his tiny digits.