A Real Man Poem by Foster Davis
A Real Man
I sing a song late of frustration,
Pulling thorns from a thin-skinned back and breast.
While, poor me, I chide my introspection.
A real man would blow this off with a jest.
Tears would come when, late at night,
Alone, away from spouse, a cry is accepted,
A moan, alright.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Topic(s) of this poem: frustration,introspection
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8/28/2026 12:07:30 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
