Male Space

The study all alone, in the corner of the home, where a man can think, reflect and have a drink, be free of charging kids, of daily cares be rid, read what ancients say, this is a male space. In the wood with a gun, tracking deer that run, putting his wits and wiles up against the wild, Field-dressing the game in frozen winter rain, embracing primal days, feeling the male space. On the battle field, the consequences real, has to take it all, or is doomed to fall. Gunning down the foe, ever harsh to know, sometimes you have to hate, it’s part of the male space. In office or board-room, facing ruin and doom, competing for a prize, Struggling to get by, it’s always looking grim, yet he plays to win, his family must be safe, he stays in the male space. Ye olde barber shop, blades Ol’ Charlie strops, shaving with straight-edge his best customer Fred. chewing over local news, the good stuff and the blues, away from the rat race, here in the male space. Dimly-lit gentlemen’s club, up against him she rubs, sells him simplicity, an illusion for a fee. For a moment he is sane, not trying to play the game, she throws them in his face, He loves this male space. Some say it has to go, like the men’s clubs of old, their ideology demands that of men they are no fans, they forget we undergo troubles they’ll never know, to bring up boys that rate, you’ve got to have male space. If not, boys lose control, don’t live to grow old, with no male sanctuary they gang-bang on the street, Oo they have worse luck, become pansy, Beta-cucks, with no pride and no place… better to have male space. These twelve acres are mine, out in the country-side, to teach my son things a man should be knowing, to hunt, to think, to drive, to fake being civilized, won’t leave it up to fate, don’t tread on my male space.