Toothless Mousers in Old Barns

Easy to pound this observation with the hammer of misogyny. Go ahead, if that's all the critique this inspires in you.

Old women who were predators on men in their youth
remind me of old cats,
particularly the toothless mousers in the rafters of old barns.
These women have that same look in their eyes
of coldly discerning and exploiting the weaknesses of their prey.
No longer hiding that look behind long lashes and wiles,
they totally reveal their intentions
of killing something soon, if afforded the chance.
Since neither these women or mousers can hunt any longer,
death is the only inducement they offer their prey,
inviting them to suicide.
As such, these sedentary predators focus on some old mouse
who has nothing left for which to live...but to die.

These rapacious old women are usually without family
or, more likely, without families that would claim them as kin,
as much for the embarrassment of doing so
as for having suffered the predations of these wheelchair hustlers themselves.
And so, the old feline rolls around in the rafters of the old folks home,
quietly studying those who pass by,
coldly discerning their weaknesses
while herself fully aware...
she no longer has the seductive muscle of a lithe body
draped in a designer gown,
the salon-painted nails hiding the blood of her killer claws
or the carefully rouged lips whose sweet smile
once hid the fangs that tore the jugular of many a man’s bank account.
She is and has ever been
a cold-blooded realist, a survivalist against all odds, an egotist in every moment.

It is easy to see these old women for what they have been.
Look in their eyes.
It is a necessary education for any young man
to meet and talk with these barn animals.
It trains his eye to recognize those traits in the women he dates--
women who, in the seductive prime of their youth,
may be merciless predators of men.