Poetic Interlude XXVI

Compare me to fruit, to angels, to Aphrodite;
I have turned the roses bloody - I, with my wheeling, wasp-filled eyes.
Name yours ships after me, your planes, your guns
And know that when they sink and plunge and misfire
That it was your own fault, or nature's, who is a similar witch.
Whitman said he contained multitudes - I laugh
I contain dynasties and countries and the world
If  I am disregarded you will live, and living wonder:
How tall would my fair sons have been? How strong my daughters?
What peoples would I have subjected before her loving eyes?
I know how little is my worth, and just how much-
You are a single differentiated man, and I am Woman.