Poetica – Guy stuff: Promise, Queue, Us


Men promiscuous?

It's nature's way of saying,

"Take care of the race."

 

Our culture runs deep,

our genes adapt to our jeans,

replacing bare skins.

 

It is no surprise.

We form a queue to service

women of our kind.

 

Plant the future seed

with momentary rapture.

Then go off to hunt.

 

In uncertain times

we protect our investment,

investing often.

 

Yes, men do compete,

ancient instinct to assure

robust survival.

Oath of enlistment?

We promise death with honor,

sacrificed for you.

 

Media mention

women and children,

Aged casualties.

 

Warfare's chief victims,

our wounds, our deaths, scarce noticed,

youth disposable.

 

Eons have gone by,

deep culture hasn't changed much,

fake surface civilized.

 

Yes, we're the problem.

Perhaps you prefer robots?

Inspermeable?

 

In some tech future,

what will you do without us?

Tremble or smile?

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