I think that I shall never see,
A woman who can aim her pee.
In spite of efforts large and small,
She cannot aim her stream at all.

In moments when decision matters,
Her target is a mass of splatters.
While men, displaying minor graces,
Score bull's eyes from a dozen paces.

Nature, in its awesome wisdom
Selected man as King of Pissdom.
Trees and walls bear silent witness,
To accurate male plumbing fitness.

While satin soft and cotton flimsy
Must suffer female peeing whimsy.
The lines at restrooms we're withstanding
The urgent bladder's stern demanding.

Puddles are made by gals like me
But only guys can aim their pee