The boy's manly hair, his set chip of a jaw,
his burnished skin, his arms ropy with muscles
were all set to inspire confidence. But in his eyes
burned a void, for where once he had a soul
now merely a collection of catch-phrases:
believe in yourself, be respectful, don't take
any shit, dish out better than you take,
neither borrow nor lend. I found
less to respect in him and his motivational wind
than in the old man I met as a child,
sitting on his porch drinking the dust of the county
highway, pot-bellied, suspenders stretched
nearly to breaking, beard long and frazzled.
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