I was a man

Oh, to spend

long nights oozing

on the floor,

sliding

ceramic tiles

grasping

and feverish

To be a man is

tiresome

a pale ghost

turning

afraid of

judging mirrors

On the good days

ever grinding

the struggle

the book says

on the good days

sweat is honey

On the bad days

brother,

the choker is tight

I can’t breathe

I was a man

I was a man and never a grub