Sun and Shade

The man who was my father worshipped sun
and soaked up summer heat
in winter wool.
Still, he remembered clover he called sweet
and driving cows to barn to milk and feed
and so begin the day.

Some days he met
the shy brown thrashers that he learned to love
far down the pasture lane
when grass was wet
and he was yet a boy not quite awake.

And I, not quite awake, am moved to ask:
What makes a boy a man?
It's not the sex,
though that's what some would make it,
laying down
the rules for lying down in cars or grass.

Perhaps a man persists and nothing more,
the testicles descended,
eggs to nests
like sacks that orioles hang high up in elms
where still there were.

It makes me think of boats that work upwind,
of man the fighter,
man who stands against all odds and weakness,
man the strong,
the macho man, the braggart.

Not alone,
I find this man repulsive, preferring snakes
that move upon their bellies,
loving shade when desert wind is hot
or pick a rock
in sun when wind is chilly.