Jesus


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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