HOLD MY POST
When I go out, sometimes I'm
wrapped tight. If it's Winter,
that's all right. Don't need to
die of the cold. Other times,
I've been told, I'm 'not wrapped
too tightly at all.' I really don't
take offense; just reply, 'I'm old.'
-
It's not even that, really, because
I don't feel old, in fact sometimes
I feel bold. Swat me some flies,
beat down some guys, young
jerks with their manhood on
hold: Infiniti music pounding
at the stop-sign at the corner.
Boy, I oughta!
-
But, more truly, what's the use?
What's the use of anything?
Hold my post.
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