A Real Man’s Throne

A Real Man’s Throne

“If only I didn’t eat that!”
The thought that haunts most of
my weekend nights—
a Real man eats the hottest
of wings and salsa
Woo Doggie—but they
never mention or even hint
towards the secrets from behind the scenes
It’s fire going in
and molten lava coming out
“oh god, the itch… the burn!”

They also say
A real man drinks beer
Beer steins and the over abundances of brewskies
I’m a swaying big man full of naive dilemmas
what should I drink next! Should I have her?
no matter how much I drink the heat never goes down.
actually it gets hotter, hotter, burning
until I’m too lit up to care
but still I’m adding to the flow of the lava
boiling hot, tomorrow
reeking the slip of Yeungling and Guinness
slopping and plopping with real mans grunts
of sweat and work!


( I shouldn’t have eaten that, I shouldn’t
have drank that, I shouldn’t have done that—Man Up—Man up
ah man)

I bet sewage plants hate the beer companies—new years,
St Patties day—the rivers of sludge and
burning acids of human gasses
sweet stench of fermented profit.

Real men like hot salsas and sauces

Sweet lord—I can hear my father
older, wiser (and I believe more feminine)
version of me.
shaking his head with a smile,
standing behind the door
early Sunday morning

“How many hours of my life have I sat here?
Hours!? Who am I Kidding!
YEARS! Yes, years!
upon this porcelain throne
working hard sweating bullets
making deposits burning the bank and
doing the finishing paper work
cleaning up tears and other messes.

So many messes
and so many hours—no wait no hours
but years.

I’m a real man, I’m a real man.
I just keep reminding myself. I’m a real man!

If only I didn’t eat that, If only I didn’t drink that
A life of Tylenol and Pepto.
oh boy, a real man.

still behind the door
I hear my father laugh.

“Real Man? Ha, dumb youth”
he chuckles as he leaves to tends his little garden
and rearranges the gnomes to his liking.

Real man? Real fire?
I really wish I didn’t eat that.


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