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.