American Machismo

You don't see what you think you see.
You can't. It couldn't come to this:
A flabby man who sits all day inside
An off-white cubicle and does
Exactly as he's told until he gets
To go back home to sit some more,
And watch TV. Oh, no; it hasn't
Come to this. The frontier hasn't
Disappeared. The flabby man
Is made of sterner stuff than others
Think he is. He's tough as any
Pioneer. He has a gun, a pickup
Truck, a large and noisy motorcycle,
Cowboy boots, a leather jacket.
All his heroes, too, are tough. They
Settle quarrels with their fists, and
Shun all that's effeminate. They
Stand, stock still, at noon, in dusty
Streets, prepared to draw against
The bureaucrat, the communist,
And, thereby, keep the nation free.
He rises, like a phoenix, from his
Couch and brushes off the crumbs
Of barbecue potato chips. He
Waddles off to his garage. It's time
For him to mount the bike and
Thunder through the open range,
Which you, at first, may view as
Suburbs. That's not what you see.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 67 times
Written on 2016-06-10 at 14:56

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