Ripped

How would you write a poem
For a he-man who hates them?

Why would you care to try?
A he-man we knew died

And it seemed like a thing
To do for him, a poem.

He might have liked the thought,
But then he would have winced.

Oh god, no, not a poem.
We know in fact he cried,

He shed tears for his past,
But he’d hate to read that.

What would a he-man like?
What poem could be like him?

I fought hard all my life.
Life’s lost me now. I win.