I wonder if it is his broken and bound arm
Or the ephemerality of his being,
In this darkened bar of interchangeable faces
Which makes him seem vulnerable
Amid those playing at being men’s men
–coarse jokes, soured draught, sexual violence–
He speaks with a poet’s passion
Soft strong words a summer zephyr
Through haze of rude raucous laughter
Shy pride softens sad brow
Evanescent smiles
A taper glowing brighter
Against the darkened banality
Psychoterrierpy 