Hey, as long as you have a game plan!

While there is nothing abstract here really, still the poem isn't quite mimetic. I think I can see you, the author sitting late at night smoking, a little down maybe, sitting at the keyboard fashioning this intriguing poem, hoping to exercise that loneliness. Hey, we all need an Antony or Cleopatra, and even if your Antony ends up being a Steve or a Mike instead of Nick, a little adoration is always nice.

It is certainly a satirical poem. With the satire partially pointed at yourself. The poem tends to be ironic I think, in that you don't literally mean what you write, it is just a way to express how you generally feel, what you are thinking, and how the situation at the moment is making you feel. The poem tends to mock itself with these lines:

he will

lie at my feet with the dogs

and lap up

my feminist bullshit

like an alcoholic priest

with a holy

whine

You know that much of this, and even how you carry yourself around others may be a bit of a show. Because at heart, just like the rest of us, what you really want (maybe) is just a decent guy who understands you, accepts you, can smile when the feminism gets a bit heavy, and is only as servile as the dogs when it is mutually beneficial.

Mainly the poem is a reaction to that loneliness I guess. Or maybe I'm way off, if I am, you can blo some smoke my way and give off a hearty, "Oh you little man" what little you know" type of laugh.

Though the short lines get a little irritating by the end, I enjoyed the poem.