This past quarter century:
you did a lot of aging,
who was seventeen,
didn't know what to do.
You quit changing a while ago
when the breathing
became difficult.
Vocational school seemed
not so good an option,
the space pool didn't exist yet.
Antediluvian footholds
in the cliff-face. High school
was wearing thin. You
climbed the flagpole, somehow,
hung out eye to eye with
William Henry Harrison.
Memorial statue, now I am
seventeen years your junior, again!
This is the blue-black nadir
of trying to love men.
