Most of us are getting by
like the book-keeper who works for the State
angry that nobody cleans the plates, abandoned
She lives for her girls, going to college
to start their own lives
while she waits
in the rain,
with her service dog
to overcome the pain.
Abandoned, bitter, women
suck the life that is left in the bones
while men, just drink
there is a kind of stoicism there
that doesn’t care
It doesn’t make sense to women
Men embrace it, even when they’re married
they don’t wish for the lifestyle—the promotion
they just get-on with it—
it’s a toughness that takes pleasure in simple delights
opening apartment windows in the winter, when it’s rainy outside
watching the predator cat, killing its prey (beautiful—doing what it was designed to do)
feeling the summer rain, hitting the dry dirt
making dew drops.
Women want fairness—they wish to maintain their standards
This poem is about
who find where they belong, and stay there.
He works in the pro shop
with beard, and beer, and one last chance—each time he tees off.
It isn’t a life, left behind
But one lived, the best way he can
He watches hockey in the evenings
he turns on the radio,
There is much
about this man
it is not important
that the world should know it.