If I Had a Penny
A poem
If I had a penny for every time some guy looked at me with lecherous eyes, or called me “shorty,” or took liberties with my personal space on a crowded train — If I had a penny for every time some man’s unwanted attention made me want to disappear or at least shrink down, I could open a bank.
If I had a thread for every man walking around with his pants riding underneath the crest of his butt so that I can see boxers or briefs where his back pockets should be; or for every woman insisting that her leggings are pants, and then pairing them with a particularly bold patterned pair of striped or polka-dotted underwear; or for every thong’s triangle living in plain sight — If I had a thread for every time my eyes had to see under posing as outer wear, what a tapestry I could weave.
If my IQ increased every time the futile complaints of a car alarm disturbed my peace, or, with my arms heavy laden, no one held the door open for me, or a driver treated a stop sign like a yield, or a yield sign like an optional amenity — If my IQ increased one point for every inconsiderate or impatient act of incivility, I could solve the world’s problems in a week.
If I had a drop of water for every time I let the pursuit of perfection keep me inactive, clipped the wings of my dreams to keep them grounded, let a hope wilt for lack of attention, or…
