The Gentle Sex

She loves and adores her strong and
virile, so masculine husband. She
always has. His admirable traits as a
male even those that frighten her for his
safety when incensed he faces a hostile
adversary with uncompromising defiance
moving off only when the other retreats.
He always has. She has such admiration
for this man who moves so decisively
to address situations of potential harm
to others despite his brusque exterior.
His affecting concern for the well-being
of a caterpillar or a toad, bending to 
lift it gently away from the oblivious 
treads of passersby. His rescue of household 
pests carefully disposing of them in the 
out-of-doors rather than dispensing with 
them otherwise, as she does. Even as she
cannot help but noting how desperately
those tiny creatures that venture on
occasion from outside to the interior of
her immaculately kept home exert 
themselves to evade capture as she swoops
to enclose them in a tissue, crush them and
flush them. And though she experiences
pity and remorse in acknowledging that
those creatures too have a right to their
own existence, recalling their frenzied
efforts to escape, she does not relent.