monksta

i am strolling through city streets in my head,
running past fire hydrants and dogs that bark,
cars whirling, whipping by with horns and noise,
and noise, and streetlights that are off

i hear those whistles and cat calls, and wonder
is it always like the Olympics for women?

They never win a silver or gold though, just
a couple choice words and dirty sneers,
and yet they deserve to medal
more than any other group I know

One day, they'll rise to the podium,
us little boys place them on, and bend their heads,
and cry, and take their flowers,
and allow that medal to be slipped around their neck,
and those cat calls, those hoots and hollers
will be appreciated,
because it has nothing to do with
how they look.