Tears

Crying more as I get older
is not such a bad deal:
it makes up for so many tears
unshed, over years past.
Tears held back for toughness' sake,
restrained for embarrassment's sake,
never started for maturity's sake.
Now, it can be at the smallest of spurs,
of sentiment, of satisfaction,
of dramatic occasion.
And I let it happen,
without . . .
well, with some hesitation.
But so much less than I once felt,
the anxiety that tears would be unwise.
A little indifference to opinon,
a healthier sense of proportion,
a great deal of love, and loss,
and much emotion.
So I cry more now,
and will continue.
But hand me a tissue,
and I'll still wave it off.
I'm still a guy, y'know.