My First Lady

The buddy who had taught me
to jerk off pointed him out,
old Mr. Merrybell,
a blue mole at his left earlobe,
fondling his watch chain,
smelling of mothballs
in the big swing on the porch
of the boarding house
where we ate lunch
in the 7th grade
when were first old enough
to elect to eat away from school.
Mr. Merrybell patted my buddy
on the head and talked
of fishing with a twinkle
in his eye
which my buddy said was queer.
We both felt very safe
that what he was doing
was nothing like ours.

Louie Crew

If you've any comments on this poem, Louie Crew would be pleased to hear from you.