Half unmanned while young
by a misadventure,

I have shoved my way through —
surly, highly aware, knowing 

that one deft blow
to my remaining grape

might change everything again;
the first blow left me childless,

a second might leave me
with nothing at all.  

Since then I’ve covered up, walked tight,
faked more man than I felt;

packed heat, packed a knife, 
packed it in and away and off to safety.

Come for me knowing you will not get
one whole man.  You’ll end up with half

and a machine, one built to run
on loss and fury;

one built to fight back, posture
and roar like a warrior, a man

with everything in place. (And even as 
I say that, I know how much more

is missing from me
than is missing from my body.)