The Garage

The Garage

A Poem by R. S. Morris




They didn’t use to exist.
Have evolved through the years.
Garages now taken for granted.
Once sold from a catalog at Sears.

Automobiles shared stalls with horses.
Smells meant a change was needed.
Some men put their heads together.
The first garages were then completed.

Some now call them a man cave.
A place where men go to talk tough.
A place to get away from the women.
Talking gardening and all of that stuff.

My garage is an extension of me.
My ideas developed over time.
Grinding and welding noises heard.
Noises some now consider a crime.

I rolled the bike out of the shop.
Intending to just ride in the ‘hood.
Two kicks later it started.
Admiring the sound where I stood.

Man next door in his backyard.
Freaked out from the sound of the bike.
Ran inside with hands over his ears.
It was a sound that most real men like.

What's happened to men of today?
Around women not allowed to be flirty.
Must embrace becoming a feminist.
No longer with hands greasy and dirty.

In my garage, I can be who I am.
I can say and think what I feel.
It’s my space to build what I want.
No girly man there, just keeping it real.

Never had highlights in my hair.
Have never carried a man purse.
Will never wear capri pants.
Just saw that yesterday and worse.

Dudes today can't fix things.
It's all in who you were raised by.
Most can't even change a flat tire.
Lightbulb blows, they just call “the guy”.

Time for men to reclaim manhood.
Building is what a garage is for.
Time to embrace the stones.
Building 'till hands greasy and sore.


R. S. Morris

© 2019 R. S. Morris



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Added on February 27, 2019
Last Updated on February 27, 2019