PMT

It always starts small
As it keeps a low profile
Not noticed at all
In the seasonal crossfire

Then builds to a hum
Ringing soft in the ears
Inner monologue numb
Overcoming all fears

With a perfectly rational
Obvious overture –
Bite stupid people
And chew on the furniture

But just a little
The day is still young
In the earliest stages
It almost seems fun

The lockjaw of anger
Is yet to appear
So we seem sympathetic
Attractive, sincere

That base urge to maim
To draw blood and salt tears
Is but hours away
But we needn’t warn peers

From the unfeeling hordes
That besiege and beset one
We’ll find one to gnaw
As we taunt and upset them

Destroy inner balance
And harmony too
As our hideous hormones
Are trying to do

Until all resolution
Is quite overcome
With extremes and confusion
Becoming the norm

When confronted with
Any adversity – woe
Betide anyone near
That we see as a foe

Insensitive, careless
And boorish demands
Mean our sensitive system
Gets quite out of hand

But the terrible power
To hurt and abuse
Only really kicks in
When we’re lost and confused

When all possible outlets
Exhausted have been
And a valve must be found
So we let off some steam

Easing tension untold
Yes the terrible pressure
Of hormones unfolds
As they grapple for treasure

An evil attempt
To subdue, to coerce,
Browbeat, hold and reduce
Overcome without mercy

Conditions of truce
Are unknown and unwanted
Our womb without use
By these phantoms is haunted

A logical Lucy
With well-ordered mind
I’ll-prepared for the chaos
Of this moon-fed time

Finds all is abandoned
Her measured, good sense
Thrown aside without caution
To sit on the fence

Catapulted to fight
All her foes in a ring
With a lack of compassion
Impaired understanding

Into truly irrational
Total submission
The perverse hysteria
Of her condition

External to those
That one normally finds
In her head is the battle
Of womb-versus-mind

At this juncture do note
There may yet be an end
If poor logical Lucy
Retains a true friend

For this is the point
At which fitness is known
Where the most passive partner
Comes into their own

In performing the service
For which they were born
They will soon prove their mettle
As golden or gone

For their duty is vital
Ensuring succession
That morn follows midnight
As goes the expression

The future of man
Hangs on one technicality
Failure to meet it
May cause a fatality

Yet it’s simplicity
If one is willing
While women are sane
To apply ears and listen

For in an emergency
Nowhere to turn
Strong familiarity
Is a great boon

And longevity may be
More certain assured
If the man is familiar
With Lucy’s hoard

For the hidden location
Of chocolatey stash
May prevent the sensation
Of grab, twist and smash

So I’m sure you’re delighted
I’ll give you a clue
Check the tin by the cooker
The rest’s up to you

Advertisements