You, my good man,
are vain.
With your swaggering walk
and the way you dress,
you think that any
woman would swoon
at the sight of you.
But all they do is stare at your
suit-clad self and your huge
goofy grin.
If you think they’re impressed,
your designer sunglasses must be
blocking out their snarls.
You think your voice is to women
like a flute is to a snake,
a lure.
The truth is hidden in the
knot of your tie,
behind the dark lenses of
your sunglasses,
the spot where your
tongue meets
your teeth.