The lady had some packages, and both her arms were full.
So I took a step ahead so I could hold the door.
No “thank you sir,” nor kindly smile played upon her lips
Instead, the words I heard were those of hypocrites:

“Don’t you know how rude you are, you wicked little boar?
I’m not weak or stupid, I can open my own door.
You sexist pigs are all alike, ‘Help the dainty breed,’
Well you can take your help elsewhere, for I am not in need.”

I looked upon the aging face of the cranky feminist,
And sadly sighed to just myself, “Why must it come to this?”
I said, “But mam, your hands are full, so you are much in need.
Had mam been sir, and you were male, I’d not withhold this deed.”

And with these words I loosed by grip and the door swung to a close.
And I walked away from the chilly glare, not looking back to know,
Just how the lady got inside, or if she every did.
After all, what do I care, since I am such a pig?