Every hurt’s a hole
a scoop life digs from the soul
we never know the motive
we can only pay the toll.

A woman holds her hurting heart
cradles it to her breast
like the babe she bore,
suckles, rocks, consoles,
nurses through the pain
closing the hole,
restoring her heart again.

A man forges
different stratagems.
He fills his holes
with the wind he chases,
races here, fights there,
builds this, buys that,
lifts, pushes, tugs, does,
fills his holes with air

like a thin plastic
red balloon,
he stretches for one more
win and
pops.

His heart collapses,
he deflates, to die
and he never, never
knows why…