Poem: "A Position of Defeat 18"
18.
sunday like
any other day of the week
begins the
work of filling up the time
the hours
integral empty sublime
present so
many unravished physiques
a white boy
fifteen or sixteen of age
honey for
hair runs past in tennis shorts
i unzip my
jeans and take out my cock
behind the
new york times and turn a page
minutes
later his older brother shows
bulging a
navy blue college sweatshirt
his rowboat
legs pumping along the dirt
my dick
hardens unbearably below
he comes
again this time pushing a stroller
in front of
him as he runs after his youth
thicker in
the waist longer in the tooth
and jogging
back and forth as if bipolar
the final
figures are predictable
the crumpled
suit the shaky gouty walk
i close my
eyes and whack my wilting cock
the spirit
willing but the flesh unable
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