“But you’re tough, ” people tell me;
As though it were a substitute
For all the blessings of life;
Or a virtue, like courage or chastity
To be honored.
“It is a false worship, ” I say,
To cherish defenses-hard and cold,
When life can be had for the taking
If one is truly courageous
Or truly strong.
The little old lady stares at me
With a cigar hanging out of her mouth.
She grins; “This is tough, ” she says
With a sparkle in her eye.
But what a lie!
The young woman strides manfully,
A chained wallet in her back pocket;
Tight jeans, chin up, tough, proud.
She can take it-whatever it is,
And she has.
The smart man bluffs his way through life,
A poker game where the best actor wins.
Wins? Wins what? Wins a game?
But people still say, “You’re tough, ”
And look admiringly my way.
(May 30,1996)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem