how was I to know
Those stale, paternalistic CAN’Ts
Were of any use to me?
Hormones argued with more force
Than gray hair and a lined brow.
A boy began to prowl,
Had one good score,
And here you are now.
“Keep your penis in your pants,”
That’s my advice to you.
I learned a thing or two
From the old man’s CAN’Ts
And an overeager screw.
Pointless Guilt
A clean-clipped row of bushing yews surrounds
Her house, the brightest flowers line the walk;
A happy home of well-adjusted life,
Yet numb to fore-friends dead as I to her.
But she’s not quite so dead to me. I wince
To think how typically I strived back then—
Achieving youth’s eternal competence:
To cache a lifetime’s worth of pointless guilt.
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