In search of my usual
Stout manhood,
I couldn’t feel a thing
In the morning.
A heist around my
Groin? What went
Wrong?
I guess I was dead.
Body lying around
Without any decency.
Mouth open.
Flies entering and
Coming out.
Drool all over the
Pillow. And hands
Thrust in my pants.
Did I pass away
Scratching my balls?
Hell of a last moments
Then- Three seconds
Of replay, maybe full
Of relieving thoughts.
My son wouldn’t joke
About me out of
Respect, maybe.
But my grandkid,
That devil,
He will scream about
My awkward posture
in some podcast-
With a thumbnail,
"Men die as they live-
scratching problems
they never solved."