By: Ben Bielert
They came roaring down the road.
Plumes of black smoke in tow,
Silverados like silverbacks
rumbling exhaust, the new chest pounding.
Shoving and cursing
Howling and yowling
Smallest dogs yap most
Magician’s trick of misdirection
Swilling down beer
None of that sissy stuff
Manhood might fall clean off
From drinking something sweet
Self-images are empty glasses
The careless sweep of a hand
And down it comes tumbling
Shattering into a million pieces
Can’t fetch a broom and dustpan
Can’t collect the mess of identity
Admitting this problem, addressing it
That sounds like women’s work.
©Benjamin Bielert, all rights reserved
Bloody Well Write 