affection

What manner of motivation prompted the mean

spleen to call me out on a public stage -

paged for a major magic moment - to find

blind rage as I'm ducked in a pail of urine?

Furious indeed that I'm stood there in a dunce's cap,

mapless, gagged and fettered, fretting to know

if you're only late, or not intending to come.

(Some insensitivity verges on contempt!)

You attempt to engineer jealousy, to enhance

the chance of a heightened sex appeal in the eyes

of society at large; but I'm loath to stand

as the grand dupe and target of their stupid ribaldry.

You'd perpetrate retaliatory ado

if treatment such as this were offered you!