I am not a man

who understands the big deal

of being able to travel from nought

to blow out

in under five seconds, nor the allure

of looking under the hood

and seeing an engine needing

complete overhaul when a sparkplug

splutters and groans at the thought

of an electrical impulse gone wrong.

 

I have no care for how far a drill bit can go

into a wall without the plaster cracking

and then requiring further work

to keep it level, I have no care at Do It

Yourself, preferring always to leave it

to the expertise of others to make my life

bearable, they at least know what they do…

 

I am not a man

who cares much for the so called

manly pursuit, never understood the pull,

the thrill of such a chase to the

eight cylinder engine, the knowledge

of fixing a toilet sump or the challenge

of being able to put muscles

upon muscle, upon muscle…

it never interested me at all.

 

Now give me the adventure of

climbing Everest in my dreams,

of championing equality amongst

all shades of human, of understanding

when a woman requires verbal

affirmation for how beautiful

they are, and let me take

the weary raised eyebrow when the talk

of the latest gadget surfaces

out for a walk in the woods and identify

the sound of a butterfly wing against

the hammering Willow,

for I am not a man who cares about what I find odd

but I care deeply and with passion

of the plight of the missing vowel

from a poem and into which

then,

and only then,

do I raise my anger skywards

and curse the machin’ that forgot the e.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015