I saw a male chauvinist pig today
with the distinguished head of a piranha,
wincing, fickled, adult-headed enfant terrible,
spouting utter nonsense beneath
an uncivilized veneer, Lord Chesterfield-like
in the eyes of emotional ignorance
like the government shutting down farms,
force-feeding their muscle-power.
       I saw a male chauvinist pig today:
his icy eyes glittering, an idol on a
giant cliff he placed himself, doffing
his cap in plainest language, like
The Department of Defense that is on
the offense, twisting every door knob
before tucking oneself to bed.
       This is our animal reality. The way
one's face may burn in the company of
strangers. Every chauvinist, male or female,
is stumbling towards a disaster; eyes
that feast on oneself like a narcissist Tsar,
"scowling like Jupiter."