Poet to poet

Inspired by something a fellow (and far more experienced) poet said a while back. Since performed afew times. Audio version here.

The old XY story

How dare you call me beautiful?
We’re male, how can that be?
Though I’ve no interest in fast cars,
My beard is plain to see.
I lift and carry, open jars,
Keep monsters from the door,
And proudly sport my duelling-scars,
A warrior to the core.

How dare you call me beautiful?
Sharp-and-witty’s fine,
But make my masculine side slip
And I must draw the line -
Chest thrust out, stiff upper lip,
Coup de grace my friend,
Play the game, keep a tight ship,
Ne’er borrow, never lend.

How dare you call me beautiful?
Have you not seen my face?
Nose clearly more than once been bust,
Of youth so little trace,
Though you insist and so I must
Mirror me once more,
Oil the joints, wire-brush the rust,
Pick fragments off the floor.

You dare to call me beautiful,
Acceptance is my guise,
No more blemishes to cite,
Nor secret-varnished lies,
I may concede that you are right,
However great the leap,
And so adieu, turn in, good night,
I need my ugly sleep.