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Misogyny: a trilogy

The philanderer

He laughed, she cried

She wondered why

he was such a bastard,

as she bathed her wounds

No, not wounds visible to the eye;

wounds inflicted by cruel words,

lies and deception, and things he forgot to mention

For example, the partner with whom

he shares a home and three children,

and don’t forget the dog and two cats.

He was at a loose end, in a strange town;

the missus would never know, and even if she did,

she would never leave. I mean where would she go?

All she cares about is the fancy house,

and the clothes she likes to wear.

She needs me to keep her there,

in middle class suburbia, coffee mornings

and dinner parties-she knows which side her bread is buttered

He didn’t expect this surprise-bun in the oven,

four months gone; she wants commitment

He shouts, asking how she could be so bloody stupid

I mean he just said he loved her, you know, the way you do?

Sure, he likes her, well sort of

Especially when she does the things that give him pleasure;

he thought it would go on without measure.

But she has to spoil it by getting pregnant

and asking him for more commitment

The thing is, doll, you’re not important-

as for that bun, you could abort it

I’m already taken, you cannot have me;

I’m off home to a dinner party

with the main woman in my life,

who for twenty years has been my wife.

You’ll never replace her, that’s a fact-get over it,

I’m out of here, and I won’t be back

She looks in the mirror at her tear stained face,

thinking, how did she manage to make this mistake?

Two years together, she thought he loved her;

she’s so angry, she could commit murder

She always wanted a child; it’s really a blessing

and she’ll manage somehow, but it’s been a hard lesson.


Purgatory, nothing lasts for ever

She sees the kids off to school and goes to the hairdressers;

a new hairstyle will surely make her feel better

He’ll be home tomorrow, I hope he likes it and doesn’t criticise

me for having the gall to change my hair

and lose his temper, before dragging me up the stairs

to take what he’s entitled to, and more;

my dignity and self respect, as he calls me a filthy whore

It’s always the same routine, every Friday morning,

the kids at school, the blinds still down, he’ll tell me that he’s horny

Put on the lingerie I purchased to make you more attractive;

he’ll rip it off, hold me down and do whatever he fancies.

Have a bath, you filthy slut, I don’t know why I bother

to come home at all, but I like to see my daughters

He washes and puts on his clothes, bangs the door as he leaves

to meet his mates at the golf club, act as if he’s the bee’s knees

The drinks are on me everyone, drink up and have fun;

they say he’s great guy, very generous, a real good ‘un

If only they knew how he battered his wife, but in places that can’t be seen;

he tells them he asked her to come, but she clearly wasn’t keen

to spend time with him and his friends, her eyes are fixed on the tv screen

Poor you, say his friends to his face, but say different behind his back;

he’s a brute, a scoundrel and not to be trusted-they are certain of that

Their wives see the bruises on his wife’s face, as she drops the kids off at school,

and just as they’re fading, he’s home again, punishing her for breaking the rules

Here’s the thing, the rules always change, just when she thinks she’s sorted;

last week he was angry that she bought instant coffee,

and now this week he’s pissed cos she hasn’t.

Sunday night, he leaves for the last flight to London; she drops him off,

with a spring in her step knowing that she’ll have the last laugh

The house that she owns, from her loving parents, has been sold

and when he comes home next time, he’ll find out

His little family will no longer be there,

she’ll have hopped on a plane with her beautiful kids,

to a place where they can live in peace


God’s gift to women?

The phone rings, it’s his lawyer to tell him

that he has an order; he cannot see his wife or children

or be within one hundred yards of them

The police have a full report of all the bruises

he inflicted on her, just for amusement.

The house is sold, and they are gone

and found themselves another home

One where he is not allowed, he is not their father;

no she had the girls when he met her

The house was hers before they wed;

everything was hers, including the bed

Revenge is a dish best served cold,

and served before you get too old

to make a life and have some laughs,

instead of being used as a punch bag

Then he remembers the bitch in London, who’s up the duff

She’ll come in handy, it’s a place to leave his stuff;

yeah, she’ll do for the moment, until things are better-

in fact he’ll write her a soppy letter

He waits for an answer, for over a week; nothing,

he decides to pop over to see

why she hasn’t responded, but then a letter

is delivered, as return to sender.

He speaks to her neighbours and they say, oh she’s gone

far away to live with her mother and father

She said that if you came around

to let you know that your wife called her

to warn her of your violent nature,

You’re a callous brute who deserves to be punished

for all that you’ve done, and be left with nothing

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