I can be an angry man.
Dead things that won't do as I wish
Tend to break.

Leaving behind a wake of
Fractured drywall and
Nervous cats,
Band-aided knuckles and
Bared bone,
I scare others. Hurt myself.

It's a family curse.
Our men are fiercely fuelled, have
Little patience for slow movers,
Rude tones, spite.
Grenades of muscle and noise
That explode in the faces of
Disrespect, then stand
Alone in craters
And regret.

Thank the gods we love with the same
Intensity.