Some floundering men still scream for change.
No new men or wild men these.
Not men who fill in the daylight gaps
With the click-click-click of the internet.
But men with exposed testicles,
Who are tired of seeming harder,
Stronger or more decisive than other men.
They don’t give friends mock punches
Rather than hugs. They don’t jeer
At what they are scared of.
They don’t use there fists as mouths
These are the screaming men
Who are throwing away their Bullworkers.
They aren’t caging up themselves anymore.
They don’t need to keep on checking
That their inner fences are still intact.
They refuse to go along with the big boys
And don’t want their country
To became a Dreadnought nation,
All over again
Men who cry out for change
In all their messy, broken fragments,
Are starting to sense the thrilling
Terror of breaking the ranks
From that crawling army
Of sleep walking men.