The manopausal male is not a species of baboon:
Though tufts of hair sprout from his ears
Long past his honeymoon.
And where his hair should hairy be, his follicles are flaws:
He's just a version of his wife
While she's in menopause.
The older male is restless while his best years are behind:
But where he needs his wits the most
They've fled fresh from his mind.
He doesn't have one youthful sprig of confidence in tow:
For all the facts he once had learned
Are facts he doesn't know.
He once could run, and jump, and play in time's exuberance:
But since arthritis loved his knees
He hasn't seen them since.
The older male is married too. His wife is packing heat:
But though the fans are turning fast
She still gets no relief.
He'd like to touch her once a year, each anniversary:
But doesn't have the courage for
A broken bone, or three.
And so he stays secluded, though he dreams of going out:
And every time he loves his wife
He's filled with dread and doubt.
A man in this predicament receives no tired applause:
He's just a guy who's found himself
Confined to manopause.
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