How to be a man
when there is no longer
work to be done
or scars to be won
down a pit in the field
no pain or gain
anymore no throne
or theatre for our
testosterone
We forge the armour
of a built body we grow
muscle and hair
to catch and keep our
last shrivels of respect
the point and power
of a caged honour
we wear a skin where blood
and bruises flower
Second Nature: James Lindesay’s Poetry 