She Wears the Trousers

She wears the trousers, so I wear a dress:
So silky on my thighs, swivelling free,
Its hem not very far above the knee
But high enough so that she feels the stress
When I forget myself and worry less
Than I ought to about my modesty,
Sitting, my legs apart, too readily
Displaying all my — who would I impress?

But now she’s put on trousers, so my crotch
May be the only power I’ve got left,
My one last place of clear sexual heft,
So yes, I’m hoping that the girls will watch.
I’ll sigh and pour myself a dram of Scotch,
And pray she doesn’t leave my heart bereft.