This poem comes from Men of Our Times: Anthology of Male Poetry. There isn't a lot of good poetry out there about being a man, or mature masculinity, so I'll find what I can. I want to include some poetry and art here, in addition to all the other stuff.
Clark Kent, Naked
They found him in a phone booth, huddled,
frail as a foetus, shivering in the cold.
The problem, he said, was that when he began
to take off his clothes for the usual transformation,
the blue and red suit with the yellow "S"
emblazoned across the front, just wasn't there.
He couldn't believe it, he said, and kept disrobing
when he was assaulted by a transient who took the pile of clothes.
He insisted that no one tell Lois as they led him away
covered by a wool blanket, babbling incoherently
to the air in front of him, remembering how things used to be.
~Fred Moramarco
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