Woman is mainly your sparks
You may flicker to flounder in,
Always going and gone wrong.
You may sound the gong long
And/or a  cheapskate whistle
In your childhood’s yearly fair.

You wait for your  weekly fun
An excitement in womanikins
Two timing life and  boredom
A wedding shopping by ladies
For their phones to gas about.

Your gong may sound pretty
A sound and sputter, in  fury
Not a whimper but dull thud,
A priapism’s predictable fail.
You whimper plastic whistle
With a crack in green bottom.