when men bake
when men clean
when men shop and change diapers
would all be poems
that would have changed
over the history of man
but not crying
women can glisten an eyeball
leak a tear over an eyelid
or squeeze out the lightest drizzle
they seem to turn the dial
like a controller of grass sprinklers
set the proper amount for that emotion
while men are likely to thunderstorm
wait till their clouds are too dark
too heavy before they burst
with sound and violence
here in the desert
storm clouds that climb the mountains
often reach the valley floor
with a whimper of rain
the ones that bulldoze over them
are deluges long soakers
just like weeping men
who always find
the cracks in the roofs
of other men