What Kind of Man What kind of man weeps at the feet of his wife in pain, holds up the pink and shrieking thing and feels the throb of time. What kind of man wraps a cloth around his waist and holds the baby to his chest, walks through the streets swaying like a drunk in morning. What kind of man feels the rage of men and only swallows at his daughter’s fists at his chest. What kind of man does not give up his time, his many pleasures, but hands them over without a sound. What kind of man bends to hold them in their suffering, in their questions, in their garbled turns of phrase. What kind of
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