Philip F. Clark: Learning

Put up your fists,
my father said.
And so I did.
So I have been
ever since;
I’ve won
nothing, gained less.
Blood-weary, well-worn,
I resist what I can.
Father, did you think
I would learn
that the heart,
with an uppercut,
had fists in return?
The swarm cheers
the down-turned thumb.
Be a man, he said.
And so I’ve tried.
Fight like a man, he said
I’ve loved men like a man,
instead.