A man’s pain

A man’s pain

I measure pain
because it counts.

Men crawl to me
on broken knees,
withhold tears
that worry brows.

I can’t fix them
though I honor their wounds
and words—
girders, cranes, splitters.

For them, I hold
the image of a pine plank
carousing out of control
smashing against a breastbone.

I compare my pain
with theirs. Is his worse?
Does mine count?

When you finally crawl in
to tell me about your pain
you will break down.

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One Response to A man’s pain

  1. mark says:

    The unconditional tone hear rings true, thanks for the loving insight.

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