Poetry

The Interview

Hey! Mister China Man,
take your lusty toad eyes away from my chest,
and focus on what I’m saying about my best,
instead of undressing my respectable black shirtdress,
and allowing your gaze to pierce through my black-laced breasts.

Hey! Mister China Man,
keep your crooked deviant smile away from my bare skin,
and take in what I’m saying about my wins,
instead of ravaging me with your repugnant grin,
and allowing your mind-germs to attack me like vermin.

Hey! Mister China Man,
tie your slimy viny outstretched hands away from my body,
and listen to what I’m saying about my summa cum laude,
instead of asphyxiating me with your clammy phalanges,
and allowing your near-touch to violate me utterly.

Hey! Mister China Man,
chain the one-eyed thing away from the fruit of my flower,
and look beyond the blinding cover and see the heroine under,
instead of pillaging my maidenhead with your shrivelled monster,
and allowing your papier-mâché ardour to crush my hard-earned valour.

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5 thoughts on “The Interview

  1. >Good morning Mila. This is so so so true. I used to work for a chinaman and all the secretaries are pretty young thing.I love this, really. Looking forward to your next post!Take care

  2. >haha charles, yes, I felt utterly violated during that 1 hour. He was raping me with his eyes, and the thing was, I wasnt even wearing anything revealing, but it was like he was trying to pierce through my dress. Really awkward…

  3. >Hi Mila, I guess you have the charm to make the chinaman miss a heartbeat.Even men gave you look at a child's b'day party! I guess it's a compliment. Your husband is a lucky man indeed.

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