Man Communicating

Last night my wife and I saw a woman lecturing on TV about how women simply have so many more words than men. Evidently, it’s another of our many failings. And she’s right. Part of what I attempt in the next poem is show the sorts of fears we men try to hide, and how much we lose because of our inability to say what is to happening us.


Man Communicating


Holding my bruised ribs

       wounded hero

a back stiff and god damned sore


I hobble with you in the dark to the hot tub


and stub my freakin’ toe


against a protruding pipe and then


jump around like a maniac


hit my head against a hanging basket


which propels me beyond reason


to tear the son of a bitch

off the hook       throw it over

the hot tub       to see

dirt from the basket

dump into the spa

which just this week

you had cleaned and refilled.


You walk back into the house

informing me in measured words,

averting your eyes,

you feel it best for me

to be alone for a while:


better than I deserve

but the last thing I want

hoping that you would

       so help me

read between my lines.



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I've been writing mostly poetry for many years and have gotten a number of works accepted in publications and anthologies. I'm most interested in communicating with poets for whom craft is a high priority. I enjoy finding and commenting on poetic gems in other people's work. For my own work, I welcome polite comments, whether positive or critical.

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