should you ever

find yourself

.

to be a woman feeling

beautiful enough

to command roman legions

and the cosmos itself

.

strolling through

the french quarter of new orleans

behind a coffin carrying procession

of voodoo gods

.

only to have the most striking man

you’ve ever laid eyes upon

dressed in a meticulous black suit

black shirt

black cowboy suits

an accent more Creole than high southern

whose face you’ve seen

in the arts section of the paper

take your arm gently

and offer to make love to you for one night

perfectly

because the sight

of a woman coming

is the catalyst for all art

.

you pretend to buy his line of shit

and do it

accept this divine spirit of volunteerism

for god, Joan of Arc, and every ballsy woman from Dolly Parton to Dolly Madison

.

enjoy the hell out of it

.

after all

women didn’t get the right to vote

nationwide until 1920

.

we deserve a wee bit of recompense