One Question Before We Close

Thank you.
We have time for one question.

The screen behind me says
THE MODERN MAN:
READY FOR WHAT’S NEXT.
The font is very calm.
It has not been asked to carry anything.

A man at the aisle microphone asks,
What makes a man now?

I look at the cards:
discipline, presence, resilience.
Three words that fit on a banner
and can be sold without a warranty.

I have prepared a slide:
a machine congratulating itself
for following procedure;
a sentence loud enough
to pass for proof;
a promise with its price
printed underneath.

The slide is tidy.
I keep the microphone.

We could say: be a provider.
There is a payment plan.
Be a protector.
There is a branded torch in your gift bag.
Be vulnerable.
Please limit your response
to three minutes.

I’m joking. Mostly.
The room laughs politely.
The sponsor’s logo keeps
its unblinking little smile.

The man at the microphone doesn’t laugh.
He asks again,
without the “now” this time.

What makes a man?

I could tell him to reject the old rules.
That would be a new rule
with better lighting.

I could read the slide back to him,
then call the borrowed certainty
my point of view.

At the side of the stage,
one of the venue crew
is trying to turn a table
through the narrow service door.

The timer reaches zero.
The screen goes blue.
“Could you take that end?”

I set the microphone down.
I go over.
The table sticks.

“Lower your side,” they say.
I do.
The door lets us through.

The man is still at the aisle microphone.

Behind us, the screen comes back on.
THE MODERN MAN:
READY FOR WHAT’S NEXT.