A poem I heard and want to remember

A REAL MAN - by Ivor Cutler.

When I was 12 I wanted to be a real
man - an old man with a beard,
sitting at a table with a huge book
full of wisdom. And what did society
hold up to me for my admiration?
A golfer, a boxer, a man who ran
quickly; a soldier, a lawyer, a tycoon;
a motorist, a pop star; a footballer.
Into what kind of madhouse had I
been born? And what have I
become? A child, witlessly pouring
out whatever enters my head. I am
a madman and people gather to
listen to me make a fool of myself.
I am not a role model. This is my
protection and my security. I still
long for the table and the book, the
smell of an old man and an old book;
the afternoon light fading