I often wonder

November 23, 2015

I often wonder/

When soft fingers grace the faucet,/

That graces the bucket,/

Whose metal contours grace the floor/

Who decided/

That sore knees,/

Coupled with aching arms/

Tripled with hunched, apron wrapped back,/

Wasn’t enough./

Who concluded that/

Sweat covered brows,/

Dripping over boiling stove,/

Wavering against the splash of delectable grains,/

Was inferior to/

Sweat covered brow,/

Dripping over shivering drill,/

Driving into determined concrete,/

Or less desirable than/

A crisp blue suit/

Hovering over brown briefcase/

Encased around tedious papers./

With what reasoning can one decide/

That diaper graced arms/

Tugging dirt draped children,/

Rattling bean filled plastics/

Is less than masculine./

Maybe they haven’t noticed/

That soap filled hands/

Equally overflowing with lives/

Doubly spilling over with responsibility/

Hold the power that reveals/

More strength/

More ability/

More masculinity/

Than could ever be fathomed

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