I could never get it straight. In my mind, that is.

Walk this way, walk that way

No hands on the hips (akimbo)

Don’t get very excited over anything

Keep your voice low and steady

Smile sometimes but don’t overdo it

Don’t whine or complain

Do look intensely at every nice-looking

Girl or woman that walks by—

Imagine her in your arms or bed even

Telling you those endearments that never

Fail to inflate your fiery ego

Strip her with your eyes only

Do fight to win always, never accepting defeat

Don’t bother apologizing

It’s not only hard to do but not very manly

Talk about sports all the time, and, whenever

Possible, play one or several

With the boys

Send the little wife and kids to church

But stay home and look over your sports mags

Or fiddle on something in your basement shop

Never dream, though, of making the bed or lunch

Don’t cry much, especially in public—hell!

Avoid that whatever the cost and

If you have to learn music, take guitar lessons,

Not piano lessons (Who ya wanna be anyway—Elvis or

Liberace?)

Never pick up thread or a needle even though

You heard that Abraham Lincoln stitched and mended

His own duds most of his life (Now there was a macho-man

For you—President to boot.)

Snort, take some drugs, wreck your life and your home

Financially cause you’ve got all this societal pressure

On your shoulders to walk this way, walk that way

No hands on the hips

No siree, I could never get it all straight

That macho-man, he-man, tough-guy shit

Comes natural for so many

Now, aging, and having never got it straight,

I find I couldn’t care less

And don’t give a rat’s ass

Much less the rat’s shit

Or a damn

Or a f*** (oops, that word!)

Oh hell, it’s December—

Do have a merry you-know-what.

I certainly plan to.