Wyatt at the bar is saying “Not all men,” without those exact words.
“You should write about it,” Bernice responds,
“After all, women have a right to complain about the experiences they’ve had,
and you’ve got a right to to describe how it doesn’t apply to you.”
I want to tell him not to do it,
that it’ll appear defensive,
that it’ll stoke the fires,
that it’s better to be a silent supporter and,
if anything, ask how you can help.

“Show how you’re not all men,” I think,
though I’m really doing nothing of the kind.

“Not a bad idea,” Wyatt says, “Maybe I will.”
I shake my head and swallow my drink.
This is gonna end exactly how it’s gonna end.