I found it hard not to snicker
at feminist bumper stickers
that read “Goddess on the Loose,”
knowing full well that
if there were a God,
He certainly wouldn’t be a woman.
Lately, though, I’ve begun to rethink
what was never clearly thunk at all.
Could I have angered some
half-naked Goddess with a twisted
sense of humor, one who’s decided
to punish past indiscretions?
If so, that could explain
why I’m suddenly more concerned
with how the Chicken Breasts Ala Rivera
are going to taste and reach the table
than how fulsome the buxom young waitress
looks in that short little outfit.
Perhaps it could explain why
hot flashes seemed much funnier
when it wasn’t me waking up
in the middle of the night
in a cold sweat wondering
what new Hell awaits me.
Ultimately, it might even explain
why lately far too many strangers
want to put things inside
my body where
they just plain don’t belong.