Masculinity
I pass a giant redwood tree each day
I go to London. There across the street
The redwood raises its erect array
Of dark green bristles and its subtle and discreet
Tight bark. Its greyness has the touch of tints
Of warmer colors but the total soul
Is chasteness. That’s the aim. There are no hints
At fussiness or loveliness. The goal
Is magnitude and strength without restraint.
The needles are splayed out so that the trunk
Goes soaring up, without softness’s taint.
Goliath is a soaring, hulking hunk.
The richness of its inner self is left
Unseen. This titan cares for height and heft.
