Fanatics

There is nothing that men don't do

Competitively – snorkelling

Growing dahlias, the shot put

And of course, stand-up comedy –

Desperation and testosterone

All over the planet are bores

Dogmatists, didacts, fanatics.

They are tuning their Fiestas

Fiddling with things in their sheds

Re-booting their precious hard drives

The religious ones are the worst

Bearded Jehovans, banning kites

Or stopping girls going to school

Spreading, from their pulpit or cave

The tedious dogma of God's word

Even the chefs are at it now

The sweaty know-alls are doing

Molecular gastromomy

Foraging in the forest, or

On the seashore, like some extreme sport

Thank god poetry is immune

From men waving their dicks around

In the air, like pathetic flags

Some do, actually; it's shame

But no-one has killed yet for beauty.