A Man

by Chris Butler

A man who sleeps on concrete beds with no cotton sheets or pillows
never rests his head.

A man who awakens to a fading overcast sunset of shaded gray
never shoots his star.

A man who endures hour icicle showers during winter mornings
never sheds his skin.

A man who stomachs the slaughter of a vegan’s hunting season
never fills his gut.

A man who sells common sense for cents and exchanged for happiness
never owns his soul.

A man who pays to play with fingertips pinned to skinless gadgets
never lives his life.

A man who allows gravitational pressure to induce scoliosis posture
never cracks his back.

A man who musters abrasive pulses of a bull’s dosage of testosterone
never binds his balls.

A man who instigates internal warfare for the welfare of the world
never breaks his peace.

A man who surrenders to the fake phonetic contents of white pages
never writes his ending.