
Three Sons
Some people are blessed
like my mother was.
She had her health
and many, many friends.
Then maybe again
she wasn’t blessed.
She had three sons,
and they weren’t perfect.
They caused her some trouble,
each in their own way
over the years,
but after some time passed by,
they all turned out fine.
Maybe not like a fine wine,
but at least a fine vinegar.
My Brothers
Now that you have seen
some of the world
what part are you going to see next?
Excuse me if you think of me being nosy
but it is a closeness that I cannot part with
and I do not attempt to try to pry it away.
Not long ago I grew up with you.
Still we are growing
but somehow, we moved to different cities.
Not that that is wrong
but there are times I must know
how you are doing.
Be patient with me
I am you brother trying to understand.
—
You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:
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Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box |
The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer |
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White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism
Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box
The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer
