First things first. This poem is by no means directed at any person.
It's just funny.
And let's be honest, there are probably a few men who fit this bill too. So in you own mind, fix the title, and enjoy.
This is a poem.
This poem was written by a former classmate of mine, during a semester we shared in Oregon. It's amusing, thus I wanted to share it.
To A Young Lady I Know
Have you ever washed your hands in a bathroom at the bus
station and they are out of paper towels (that, or they've
gone into hiding with soap) so you look around
frantically for something to dry your hands with and save
you from getting water on the crotch of your jeans, until you
see it- the toilet paper- the kind that is eight cents a roll,
three-sixteenths ply, strung together by half a dozen
vagabond molecules, and your dripping fingers fumble at it
dissolving half the roll-
that is what talking to you feels like.