I believe it’s a sickness
I know not if there’s a cure
When a man can’t keep his hands
Off of her, her and her.
I think it’s an addiction
Like smoking, drinking, cards
Everyone knows quitting
Is just too hard.
I never thought them macho
Those philandering men
Putting the play on each woman
Be she tall, short, fat, thin.
Just let a female
Show up in their sight
They shift into overtime
As they chase through the night.
It is one more habit
They fall into
Often, not even inquiring
“Just who are you?”
But there seems to be a trigger
Some place in their minds
That the sight of a woman
Simply forces them to unwind.

April 1999


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