THE COSPLAYING CASSANOVA
Are you an urban youngster, a yuppie, or a Cassanova-wannabe?
I think you’re all three,
desperately trying to convince
your amused audience
that you’re such a catch
to women all around this busy town
even to those you refer to as ‘independent women’.
Meanwhile,
I keep yawning like a sleepy lion,
wondering when you’ll stop yapping.
“That don’t impress me much,”
I think I remember that Shania Twain song.
It sounds like such empty pride from a so-called “bad boy”,
pitifully fishing from compliments
from all his flexing.
I’m a laughing Ms. Independent
because I don’t sleep around
not even out of sheer desperation.
I know I’m not your type.
Thank God, I’m glad!
You think you’re the winner,
even as a heartbreaker.
I’ve no time to be a useless hater,
but mark my words:
There’ll come a day
when you shall fall head over heels
for a girl who won’t even glance your way.
Karma never sleeps.
Your name is on its list for keeps.
R.