I sat there and listened
while he detailed
his vision.
then spoke the other he
and the neighbouring he;
opinion and monologue
(non vaginal).

when the female speaks up
the bald heads all swivel
in owl-jowled surprise, unhidden
(look who’s talking!).
bright at first, jolly,
but quickly staccato,
the lady stutters to a stop
at the cold social shock
of simply being talked over.

for he has ignored the interruption
and gone on with addressing
other (more interesting) subjects
with other (more interesting) subjects
of the cleverer, masculine sex.

more mantalk thus blossoms
filling the non-gap of embarrassment
suits and boots
(cigars and cognac?)
then –
(what’s this, gentlemen?)
a second attempt
another female voice,
wanting in.

goodness: this one persists
bizarrely convinced
of her own right to think,
to exist
so reluctantly, he allows it,
O! pedantic intrusion
and almost gives her the floor…

but as I sit there and listen
(and only sit there, and listen)
there is neither question mark,
nor hoped-for floor:
he has anticipated the ending
of the good lady’s query
cuts her off,
and begins to hold forth.