The Last of the Great Misogynists Goes Down

I love to watch a woman walking down
The street in jeans and a Porn Star T-shirt.
At first, I read the sign literally,
Imagine her in famous positions.

But then I remember the metaphor—
How every woman is a porno star
For every man she’s ever let see her
In light, as when he runs his memories

Of her through his projector, cutting scenes
The way they never really were. It seems
That film’s demise is near, the thespians
Of dreams die frame by frame in revision.

I know this fad is almost, though replete
With classic images, now obsolete.