Go forth!

Second Draft

We had roles to play, and we played them, pitch perfect.


I manned the smoker,
tongs and gloves;
the straining weight
of a steel grate
filled overflowing
and the process explained
to each new comer,
curious, intrigued:
the man and his toy,
in the back,
beneath the arbor vitae,
kneeling to stoke the flames
with a blow drier,
stirring the embers;
the sheer tenacity
of a slow cook
in the rain.

We had roles to play--
these men of the party,
crowding near the smoker,
at its center. 
We played at being
men of action,
men of steel and fire,
men of the hunt,
of tracking and killing
and gutting to cook and eat,
to feed ourselves, our women and children--
these men of new york,
artists and poets,
dabbling students at city colleges,
boutique salesmen, law students.

The photos of the event
were on facebook
the next day and paint the picture:
arms fanning the flames
to stoke the slow burn,
to spite the rain--
the bulge of biceps,
the veins of my forearms,
the competent gaze. 
The trappings of suburban masculinity
embodied perfectly. 
I had never dreamt I could appear so collected,
confident,
together.

There was no country music that day.
she wouldn’t have it.
No, that’s not entirely true:
she’d have let me,
she’d have indulged me,
but I knew she’d prefer not to,
and being the man
I bore the weight of that indulgence,
conceded the point.

But I was dressed the part anyway;
the music would have been overkill. 
In the morning,
naked at the waist,
fighting the forces of nature
that conspired to ruin our BBQ,
our engagement party. 
And then,
receiving guests,
in Levi’s,
a Shooter Jennings t-shirt, 
Martin’s BBQ hat,
black leather belt etched with woodland scenes,
the vintage Coca-Cola brass buckle,
the Leatherman at my side,
the heel of my Frye boots
adding two inches
to command respect.

We were all workers that day:
we men of new york--
going forth!
sharing our story,
becoming
our brand. 

Charles Imbelli 
2010