Poems by
Anil Bhatt

Confessions of a Male Chauvanist Pig

a poem by Anil Bhatt

It was just a routine phone call
With a familiar voice, a bit nasal on the line
‘How wonderful it was to have known you’
The instrument quickly picked up the caller’s
We were playing a sound vibrations game
The call, undoubtedly had put me beyond any blame

Why don’t you do something progressive’
So that was her opening gambit
The glittering, gay kiddish glint of her mocking age

Flashed in my mind
The voice as of now had become drab and aloof

I decided to come up with an instant reproof
I thought hard but could only recollect
The fine contours of her slender neck
Gliding into deep cleavage
The fragrant smell of her perspiration
Her exemplary anatomy

She was pretending poise so I had to rub it in
Her body odour and salivary glands producing grin
That gave the relevant vitality to offend
And be pungently sarcastic
A person after all is made of emotions not elastic
‘Are you still there
The bitch was trying all kinds of tricks
‘Yes I am, was thinking of your bedroom gymnastics’
The response was as usual shameless
‘Let’s make it easy for each other’

Since it had to be all over
I decided to be fair and use the slice

Take some brotherly advice
Change your hair vitaliser
‘It smells like cod liver oil’

Even this didn’t rattle her rigidity a bit
She was really asking for a below-the-belt trick

‘Do use some herbal medicines before going to bed
And get some sleep
You always look half dead
And under the neck can pass for a sheep
Anyway, I always had reservations
Regarding a permanent Keep’

This I thought was the coup de grace
She was utterly shameless
And ducked the frontal attack
With ‘We still can see each other once in a blue moon’
‘Sure I said,’ If I can spare some thought or time
Girls like you are a dozen-a-dime

I banged it hard cutting off the line
Before she could threaten to call another time