Poem For A Real Man

It’s pitch black outside, but I hear the surf on the shore
It’s quite a cold January; going out would be poor

In my cozy beach house a fire is roaring
A cliché it is how the weather I’m ignoring

A book in my lap and I’ve the place all alone
I can do what I wish with no one to pick a bone

I look out the window; it’s all black and nothing is calling
Time to think about a late evening snack and ignore the squalling

How fortunate I am to be such a man
Who has fortified himself with such an excellent plan

My biggest concern long about midnight
Is which whiskey to choose; oh what a plight

But as I look at the single malts inhabiting my shelf
My bonhomie vanishes along with my sense of self

For what’s life about but a series of events
That are challenges all or it makes no sense

Would a real man just sit inside with a scotch
Or run and jump in the sea wearing nothing but his watch

What an idiotic thought as I push it away
But there’s no one around; no one to gainsay

Now let’s take another look at those fine single malts
And put my mind away from the frigid water full of salts

But it’s Poe who wrote about the Imp of the Perverse
The more you consider the implications, the more it gets worse

I recall that when younger I never feared the odds
I was superman and could take on the Gods

But now as an almost sixty year old man
Should I be more reticent, maybe more of an also-ran

Or should my machismo triumph over common sense
There’s no one around, which adds to the suspense

“What’s wrong with me?” I say as I watch my hands pour me a double
Should I sip my favorite whiskey or go out and seek trouble

No one not crazy would take such a self-appointed dare
But to me that makes it all the more better – not fearing the scare

Alone I’d be in the depths floating and freezing
When I sprang from the water I’d be cold and wheezing

And a heart attack could then kill me shortly
I looked down at my paunch; alas, I’m just a little portly

But to tell my friends I was so much braver
That I, nearing sixty, didn’t flinch nor waver

Would that be worth this crazy chance
It would indeed, as I set down the scotch and pull down my pants

The greatest achievements ever done by man
Aren’t thought through too deeply with the most perfect plan

Now off with my shirt and my underwear
There are clubs for this kind of thing with names like ‘Polar Bear”

I grab me a towel as I leave the house
It might be useful after a seawater douse

I run out the door forcing my brain not to think
The rush of frigid air hits me, but I do not blink

Towards the beach I speed undeterred
I run all the faster, arms akimbo and free as a bird

The ocean laughs as it sees me coming hard and fast
It’s seen this game before – the die has been cast

I drop the towel and blast forward legs a’churning
I can feel the thrill, with my muscles burning

“Do not think!” I shout to my brain in my euphoric state
It’s the one organ saying “turn back before it’s too late”

I can’t help but scream when I make the splash
Prepared as I thought I was, it’s still a hard smash

Submerged I am for a second but it’s long enough
So I can tell everyone that yes I am tough

Then I struggle from the water; I fight the undertow
It’s back to where I started or a cold death as I know

A moment of panic; where is the shore?
I can’t stand the cold water for even a moment more

Then I see the beach just where I had left
Towel in the sand I wasn’t bereft

I’m now shaking to my core but feeling oh so jolly
Now will God reward or punish me for my folly

I’m just a puny mortal risking it all
Challenging fate, by heeding the call

I run home fast in my birthday suit
Towel flapping ‘round in hot pursuit

The door opens and warm air hits me with a gust of joy
I’m a middle aged man but still with the heart of a boy

And there on the shelf where my head is turned
Is my double scotch, which I now have earned

Okay, I’m an idiot I think as I sit and sip and muse
To my body I’ve given some demented abuse

But in the end I feel so completely gifted
It was worth every bit I’m now so uplifted