Up and down the country from the North to the South
In every loud grunting gym to the libraries silent mouth
There is a whole train of thinking, an unquestioned school of thought
Of what really makes a man and what is his worth
Is this opinion concrete evidence or up to the elbow in complete shit
So do you move through life on instinct or do you question everything
There is a certain strength, a gritty earth tasting dirty nails male
Then there’s his creative light footed, tight bodied talkative self
Do they live peacefully together or are they constantly locked at the horns
Which one braved the face of hate and which one pulled the face in the first place
Which one is the stronger and which one is the survivor
Who’s the one to walk every mile and who admits defeat and hides to cry
Can you explain to me what makes someone a man?
Is it the evocative poems that we sit and write together late at night
Or is it the quick of my spit when my hands need to grip tight
Is it the muscled fist clutching the heavy spanner
Or is it the open palm that gently offers a flower?
Are my feelings buried through the fear of the unknown
These feelings hidden under until they explode
Have I an open heart to express my every turn
An open heart that will always get hurt
Am I intrigued of what lays beyond the cars body
Or will I be the one hiding under the hood
Am I scared of the changes
Or does the change do me good
Do I hide myself in the cubicle
Or am I proud at the urinals
Will I be the master of my house
Or will I let another her control me
So did my sisters damage me by dressing me up in their clothes
Or did they show me how to really treat a beautiful young girl?
But today as I walk just a few steps behind a female
I’m riddled with guilt feelings of potential rape
Not because of anything that I would ever do
But that I’m always aware of the evil that men have done before me-
These men of snarling hordes
The male entertainment bores
Their banging of the pub doors
His face pushed to the floors
Leading each other into another endless war
Only to push the button for the end of the world…
So what makes me a real man?
And which one am I?
I cannot think
As the sudden thump sound of a football still makes my heart sink.
© 2008 Steven Pottle