The Men

There was a time 
when the men were happy; 
they lifted big rocks, 
and were happy.  

The rock directly proportional 
to the breadth of their ecstasy, 
and the whole village 
gathered round to watch. 

They ate flesh then 
and were healthy, 
eating elk in its entirety. 
They chased the mammoth  

with spears and bows and AK47s 
whilst at home,  
all the women were pregnant. 
Pregnant with a feeling. 

The size of their pregnancy 
directly proportional to the joy 
of the nation, as the men 
shot the moon in its vitals. 

That was the time 
when men sat in hot rooms 
and cold baths and rarely died, 
not even when the rains came,

not even when the bombs. 
The size of their aliveness 
was too great  
for the gym’s mirror. 

In the time when men were men 
the men were happy 
as the head of a household,  
and the size of the household

a whole village gathered round 
to watch the men shoulder 
this great happiness, carry 
the weight of their success.