To Her Aggressive Lover
by Andrea M. Newton
In response to
Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress"
Had you but mind enough to know,
I trust you would not badger so.
You just might realize I'm not
as coy or simply as you thought --
or you the first to try such tacks
to get me laid upon my back.
With words and praises as sublime
better men have sworn the time
that to my beauty they'd apply.
A hundred years to each bright eye,
two hundred to my breasts and thighs,
four hundred to my slender size --
and each would spend eternity
to worship my virginity.
But at his back each lover heard
Time's hurried step and whispered word,
"Hurry up and take her fast --
life's rushing by and you won't last!"
So each one argued, as you have,
that sex won't happen in the grave,
and what a shame for me it'd be
to waste on worms virginity.
And God forbid his manly lust
should wither, die, and turn to dust.
He couldn't bear to see his pride
to shriveled up and sorely died.
So at my door I'd hear him knock
as soon as morn had waked the cock;
he'd fall upon his knees and plead
that I must fill this dreadful need.
And shouldn't I, for love of him,
satisfy this little whim?
Spread my legs from pole to pole,
embrace him, comfort, and console?
But hard as they did beg and pray,
these would be loves I turned away.
Their patronizing tricks and lies
will never get them 'tween my thighs.
Perhaps if they had simply asked
I'd have taken them to task.
Yes, the grave's a fine and private place
and in the graveyard I've embraced
many loves, with pleasing strife,
and chased them through the gates of life.
But these men had the drive and nerve
to ask -- not compliment my curves,
then by their words confuse my head
and thus possess my maidenhead.
I rue the day that I'd consort
with that vile, deceiving sort.
Their reason flawed, I'd show them out
while each one, with a little pout,
complained of what great agony
his heart endured for lack of me.
But as he'd get no further here,
each jilted love would disappear
into another chateau near
to see the prize again and yearn --
pity that they'll never learn.
A simple proposition gains
far more than bribes and tricks obtain. |
