Your eyes run down me in a long, experimental brush,
as if you're daring me to slap you.
You're hands so fast, they're almost invisible
then all of the sudden they're somewhere they shouldn't be.
You talk in a rhythmic, low rumble
telling me what we should do at your place.
with that final straw,
I get up to leave,
and of couse you don't stand up.
As I'm going you try to stop me,
then open the door for yourself.
Kelly Curiel
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/chauvinist-pig/
