I will not write on lost love,
But do rim shots on a drum.
Blow a flourish at your exit,
Sounding the fury you left.
I hope you hear how well I'm doing.
I can roast baby back ribs,
Add softener,
Keep a clean kitchen sink.
I think I could birth now,
And do just about anything a woman can.
I am male. A man.
I need remind myself
After public emasculation
For the unbridled innateness
Which is sometimes us.
We are heading towards equality,
Finally, and,
When all is said and done,
Keep the ribs.