Before I was a sexual creature,
I didn't have a game plan,
but instead I played games
with dice and glass marbles.
I loved my marbles, sure,
but who knew why? Who knew
why not? They were soft & round
and didn't yet look like an old man's
forehead. I played with them
without even thinking of cancer.
Without even thinking of orgasm.
In case you haven't gotten it yet,
my testicles had such intrinsic
value that I cared for them
more than anything in this world.
I chased girls on the playground,
sure, collapsed to the grass with them,
but what could I do with them?
Before I was a sexual creature,
I wanted them to want them, not for what
the provided. I prided myself
in things that would never get me laid:
being Timothy's best friend
in the whole wide world,
being able to snort a grape seed
up my nose and spit it over
the shortest slide,
having teeth that looked like an ogre's.
Stop me if this sounds too vulgar,
but I could piss on your head
while kneeling. That one actually did
get me laid once, but not with a woman
I would brag about.
What have I kept from those days,
those pre-balloonman days?
Almost nothing. At times, I'll
pick up a pair of socks with helicopter
patterns just to exchange them
with solid brown wool ones.
I still write poetry, I guess,
but that has gotten me laid, at least
twice, though my best friend
in the whole wide world, Timothy,
does as well, and according to him
it hasn't yet had such positive effects.
