What does it mean to be a grown man?
Is it enough to simply recognise that
while certain dispositions require a front row,
not every inclination is repulsive?
Or perhaps the awareness that only a few
passport photos remain to be taken?
I guess toning down the theatrics might work.
Having a way with words doesn’t hurt either—
certainly if I’m to embrace vulnerability.
Then why all I can think of are the weather idioms?
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
A coward, a lazy and selfish one—a man
(doesn’t sound particularly bad in earnest,
a little wry, perhaps)—a flat noun, striving
to define the gap between ‘me’ and ‘mine’,
yet barely passing by the em dash, like the man
of every Raphaelite and Ogilvy, only dozing off
in old age, never quite striking the right chord.
And I’m still not sure if that’s hubris or abjection.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
Never sure he needed a prompter
or a ponce, Mr Honk was desperate
to play the farewells and greetings
as if they were merely exercises
in elocution or, at most, ill-equipped,
restless harbingers of piles—
just another great Scottish tragedy
of arse.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 