A god made woman’s mindways something other

from the get go. 

One kind is Ms. Pig of the long hairs

who smears mud and crud the whole house over.

She’s a mess, lies around and rolls on the ground.

This breed skips showers, no suds for her duds,

sits in her stinkheap and plumpens up. 

And this kind

god made from the mischief-monger Vixen,

a woman who knows it all. Evils? not past her

do they go, no way, and the better stuff too.

A lot of times she says the bad is good and the good

is bad, and sometimes her mind is going one way, 

other times, it’s somewhere else.

And the Canine kind,

she is a bad one and her mama’s daughter, 

she catches onto everything, wants to know 

everyone’s dirty laundry, pushes her nose

everywhere as she pads around and bays

even if she sees not a single soul. She won’t stop 

not if a man threatens her and not if he dashes

her teeth out in an anger blast with a rock

and he shouldn’t be sweetie-pieing her if she

happens to take a seat when there are guests

and mouths off aimlessly on and on and on.

And

the Olympians molded earth and gave to man

the Feeble kind. There’s nothing bad and no

thing good this sort of woman knows but is she

an expert in one activity — eating. When’s the time 

god makes it a harsh winter she’s freezing and elbows

twice as close to the fire.

And the Sea breed, she

has  double mindways. This kind is all laughs 

and delightful on a day, a guest sees her at the house 

and sings her praises: “No dame more desirable 

there is than she in all of humankind and not

more beautiful.” He can’t bear to behold the sight 

of her or get too close, that’s when she goes nuts

just like a dog you can’t get near. Damn pups!

But relentless and everyone’s to hate,

the same to enemies and friends, that’s her.

Just like the sea, often not moving one hair

she is composed, no problems here, big fun

to sailor-types in summer time and she loses it!

she’s borne hither and yon on far-thundering waves!

With the sea this woman-kind really is a match,

that’s how it is with the she-sea, her repertoire 

is all the tricks. 

And †out ashed†, rubbed up and down, 

is the Donkey kind. Under duress and cursing,

braying no way Ray!, she bends her neck to all

you ask, makes a decent stab at a job meantime 

she’s scoffing snacks in a hidey-hole the whole

livelong night and day, while supping at your board.

Likewise too when it’s about the Aphrodite thing

she takes whoever happens to come and dawdles by

as her mate.

And the Weasel breed, she is 

a vicious prickly kind. There’s nothing becoming 

or attractive attached to her, nor delightful nor

lovable. She gets crazed for the bed of lust,

and makes the man she’s doing it with throw up.

She lifts things and does every possible wrong 

to the neighbors and nibbles a lot on the leavings 

of holy sacrifice.

It’s the luxe Maremaid kind

is born long-maned who takes the long way around 

toilsome work and woe. She wouldn’t lay a finger 

on the mill, nor would she pick up a colander, 

wouldn’t scoop the dung out of the house or get near 

the oven, that soot-shunner. Because she has to 

she cozies up to a man, she washes the grime off her 

the whole dang day twice, thrice again, oils herself with 

balsam, keeps primping her straight-pressed tresses,

the pile draped in leis. You bet  such a woman is

a pretty sight to some people, but to her keeper 

she is an evil creation except he is some kind of 

tyrannosaurus or absolute monarch who has 

this thing for a trophy wife.

Then there’s Monkey madam. 

Zeus thrust this absolutely biggest bad unto menkind. 

Super base in the face is she — this kind of woman 

traipses around the boulevards, everyone’s laugh riot, 

she’s got a short neck, she hardly crawls, she has

no behind, it’s like she digests her own gut. Wretched 

the poor soul who embraces badness of this kind!

All counsels and customs she does know just like

a simian, and she gives no fig about snickering.

She does no good for no one but sees what she sees

and plots the whole dang day, just so she can make 

the biggest mess any which way.

Onto the Bee breed,

anyone getting her is in luck. For criticism does not 

cleave to this type uniquely. Under her watch the living

blossoms and prospers. Well-loved, she grows old,

her loving husband by her side, begets a beautiful

and name-famous family. Very fine she proves 

among women, every one, and a godlike grace spills 

round her. She doesn’t like having girltime sitting 

with women when they gripe over love’s bons mots.

This kind of women for the menfolk pleases Zeus,

the very best and much worthy of mention.

And these 

other types by Zeus’ machinations all exist and abide

among menkind. For Zeus has made this greatest evil,

Woman, and if they seem in anyway to help he who

has her, does she really become a pain to him. For,

not ever in a good mood does she get through a day,

the whole damn thing— whoever lives with a woman

will not shove Hunger soon away from his home,

that hateful housemate, bad news for the gods.

Whenever a man seems well-pleased in his heart

about his own house, either his god-lot or what graces

humans possess, she finds something to harp on,

she will self-arm for battle. Where there’s a woman 

in good stead he should not receive into his house 

the occasional guest. Whatever woman positively 

seems of especially sound mind, she turns out to act 

the most outrageously of all: While her man gawps

the neighbors get a good laugh at the sight of his goofs.

It’s his own wife that every man takes pains to praise 

while finding fault with someone else’s. 

We are the dupes

having the selfsame lot. For Zeus made this big, 

big evil and clamped on a ball and chain that can’t  

be broken, from the time when Hades received 

those men because they vied over a woman.