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A WOMAN'S POEM
Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man who's not a creep.
One who's handsome, smart and strong,
One who loves to listen long.
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he's rich and self-employed,
And when I spend, won't be annoyed.
Pull out my chair and hold my hand.
Massage my feet and help me stand.
Oh send a king to make me queen.
A man who loves to cook and clean.
I pray this man will love no other.
And relish visits with my mother.

A MAN'S POEM
I pray for a deaf-mute gymnast
nymphomaniac with big boobs who owns
a bar on a golf course or in a marina, and loves
to send me fishing and drinking. This
doesn't rhyme and I don't give a rat's
ass.


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History has shown me that the guy in the woman's poem usually gets kicked to the curb for being a spineless crying turd.
he is often replaced by some jackass that goes fishing all the time without asking for permission.
The woman in the guys poem only exists in a utopian society like maybe, France.

Mark,
The guy you describe is the one in that new car commercial trying to teach his kid to throw. The new eunuch modern male.

Yeah, but he'll never need rotator cuff surgery.

Nor will he need Rogaine for his palm.