A poem which ends with useful advice for women

I decided to test your reaction
and started to peel back the layers,
my two coats off revealed jacket
so then you could see my arms,
when I took off my waterproof trousers
I nearly fell down in the mud,
you tried to muffle a laugh.
I thought, well that’s got some worth;
I was proud of raising your smile.
I thought I could raise something more,
so with charm and graceful seduction
I decided to try a new move.
I lifted a long slender leg,
tossed muddy wellies aside.
I thought this time I'd cracked it
but you looked at me bored instead,
then seeking the warmth of my slippers
and admiring their dark purple hue
I snuggled my toes into fake-fur,
not the sexiest thing to do.
By now you’d gone off the job.
with glazed eyes you walked away,
and instead of thinking of me
you switched on the bloody TV.
Removing my jacket I hurled it hard
hoping to gain your attention
but goal-match-draw caused a scream.
Wish I could make that sensation,
on the way to the fridge for a beer
you tripped on my baggy sweat shirt
which I'd laid on the floor to remind you
that I was here in the mood.
As you settled and popped the bottle
I thought I do some popping too,
so I took off my tatty old tee shirt
revealing a vest or two.
perhaps if I now started lower
I would get a better reaction,
so I peeled off grass stained trousers
long johns beneath, such a shame,
now getting near more thrilling bits
I had quite a lot to gain.
A vest was thrown on the sofa,
long johns hung from lampshade,
surely I was getting close.
I struck a film star pose,
in dismay stark light shone on cellulite.
I remembered my legs weren't shaved
and other bits were all hairy too.
I doubted my plan could be saved,
finally down to thick knickers -
why are they so grey from the wash?
My bra just seemed rather tatty
and my toenails needed a cut,
your remote working fast and furious,
channels were switched for some sport,
a lazier way of getting a kick.
I was beginning to feel quite sick.
So the moral of this sad tale
is suggest to all women here,
take him to bed fully clothed.
Let him do the peeling, my dears
then that becomes his greatest pleasure
saves you much time and grief
and at least you’ll get what you want
before he then falls asleep.

Kathy Trout
19 February 2021

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Kathy Trout 
would be pleased to hear them.