I’m up on stage reading a poem about women and wine
It draws the parallel between a cheap bottle and a loving woman
And as it draws to a close

I hear the word ‘sexist’ light up the room
Flying through the air like a pile-driver to my conscious
A ‘sexist’ I retort to no particular comeback so on I plough

On with the next poem when I see her get up and walk out
Before I get the chance to explain
I love women but most simply don’t get me.