By No Means Is This Woman Who I Am Poem by Mark Heathcote

By No Means Is This Woman Who I Am



Her Stetson apparel had taken her thus far
Oh, how she wishes she were a Cinnabar moth
An eye-dazzling beauty wearing silken red cloth
Black heels - rather than the protocol
Steel-toed work boots, this is what she internally spoke.

But on-site, she too behaves like some burly sexist bloke
Shouting out the orders, ogling, whistling - no joke!
She gives as good, if not better -than she gets.
And they, my friend, aren't sweet vignettes
-Quotes from the bible, but she has no regrets.

Well, maybe only this one, the dress code.
Like lots of women, she wants to look her best, be glam
Sit on the bonnet of a JCB, a red hot siren.
'Read each passing man, his cardiogram.'
'Say, look, lads, by no means is this woman who I am.'

Thursday, October 6, 2016
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