Snow Job

 
As a boy, “writing my name in the snow”
Was the peak my male conceit.

To my mind, the dubious talent
Clearly rendered my gender elite.

The fact that girls couldn’t do it
Made my pubescent hubris complete.

My childish arrogance knew no bounds
... 'Til the day I met Marguerite.

She dubbed my feat "a piss-poor trick",
An antic she'd easily beat.

Scoffing, I declared it impossible
As she lacked the "tools" to compete.

Yet mere seconds after I'd dared her to try,
I was cringing in wretched defeat.

I'll decline to describe the particulars,
Good decorum bids me be discreet.

But etiquette doesn't preclude me from noting—
Damn! She was fast on her feet!