i turned sixty-five.
looking back,
what have I become?
a drunk.
i drink more than
the common man.
a husband
two times over.
an ex-husband
twice again.
a father.
three times over.
i wonder:
what do my children think
of me?
have i influenced them?
what kind of influence
have i been?
my son.
i wonder:
will he turn out like me?
is he what they call,
“his father’s son”?
i hope not.
i wonder:
what would he make
of these ruminations?
married to a woman for
twenty-five years.

twelve years my junior.
what was I thinking?
a sweet piece of ass,
that’s what.
what a pervert.
and I still am –
that much I can admit.
beating off to porn
every night
in my garage.
only God knows
how I still get off.
the thought of
a young girl’s thigh.
that milky white flesh.
it’s not enough
there’s that new young waitress
at the diner.
what an ass.
she’s not even enough
to make me cum.
“you old letch”
they’d say.
if they only knew.
“you’re nothing but a dirty old man.”
but what the fuck do they know?
they don’t know
i’m just a lonely old man.

By Grant Walker


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