I can't go out for more than fifteen minutes
without having to whip out my cock
and water the concrete in some parking lot
all men my age know what I'm talking about...
prostate...a prostate as big as a grapefruit
Yeats once wrote a poem about
what makes old men wild and crazy and now I know...
it's not the low flame of lust and desire flaring up
when a young summer-clad beauty flounces by...
it's the broken sleep patterns of getting up
two or three times a night to flush water through the hose
REM cycles obliterated...bleary-eyed regard
of shadows in the night as a dribble delivers itself
let women complain of their yeast infections
an appropriate payback for their years of cunning
to ensure their Queen-Bee status while we old drones
lay aside dead with bladders released of their purpose at last...
urine-stained corpses of once-healthy workers....
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