A Slightly Misogynist Poem
The young man drums the floor with his foot,
Here in the brewpub, sun streaming in.
He eats to feed his corporeal engine.
You are the motor of society, young man
Whether you father children or no
The drum of your foot holds power intense
That no lass's arm can match.
Would we all but keep drumming,
Grinding out matter with our bodily sparks,
Work not for appearances, but for things:
Strive for noble ends, not silken strings.