Ladies' Man

He had a small, tight, white, bow tie. A monocle stuck in his wide right eye. A thin moustache, a thick coarse laugh, a brow that knitted, a suit that fitted, the gift of the gab, a fine line in patter, a Paddington stare and a look very dapper. And oh he fancied himself as a lady’s man but with a twinkle in his eye he’d wink at anyone. A walk-in wardrobe full of clothes. Going in, coming out, he couldn’t keep that closet closed. Ghosts in the cupboard, reputation on the slide, trying too hard to hide his feminine side. Walking tall on the straight and narrow but it all seems bent, twisted and shallow. Being a man can be so demanding when all you need is love and a bit of understanding. Oh he fancied himself as a lady’s man but with a twinkle in his eye he’d wink at anyone. It’s a terrible affliction, an addiction indeed. Attention contention, a desperate need. Like a drama queen he’d announce his state, with a flourishing flounce and an exaggerated gate. Pronouncing gloom, presenting rage, organised, centre stage, and with his audience aghast he’d say he was going insane, glare at everyone and claim they were to blame. When they resisted he persisted and insisted it was true, he was the victim that he played and everybody knew. He fancied himself as a lady’s man, but with a twinkle in his eye he’d wink at anyone. If there are morals to this story then I suppose it’s hard to judge a book, especially when it’s closed. You can’t buy love but you spend it as it flies, men don’t cry - they sweat from their eyes. If you’re bowled over and out you’re batting for the wrong team, and just a glance at your stance shows which way you lean. You might swing bi, hang left in the pink, set up camp, Testosterone Inc, but you don’t have to be a lady’s man, when there’s a twinkle in your eye, you can be anyone. If there’s a moral to this story I guess it’s don’t judge yourself by the rest, independence reigns supreme but keep your nose nice and clean.