A Brief, Incomplete History of Misogyny

Women’s closets
smell like cat, like a corner
where a cat’s been at
his nasty business.  Do ya get, do you
get the connection?
My mom would scream.
She hates cats, has that
old English aversion
to the devil walking around in flesh,
consorts of the witches and don’t say
the Black Plague could have been averted
with enough cats, fewer rats
and a whole hell
of a lot fewer lice.  Devil
in the flesh, isn’t it like woman,
like Eve with an apple like
a witch floating on a millpond like
a woman sinking
while the cat watches,
licking its paws.
Next time you’re near a women’s locker room,
a  dormitory, a barracks, take a good whiff.
Grab that woolen armpit up
to your face.
There’s cat in there.
But sorry.  I’m probably
not telling you anything
you don’t already know.

Holly F. Pettit

If you've any comment on her poem, Holly F. Pettit would be pleased to hear from you.