Archive 03/03/09 - (2)

   

A Change of Life

                                                                         

When he arrived at the inhospitable age of seventy-eight,

Having not experienced sexual intercourse

For more years than his physical instincts could recall,

He vowed to change his life,

Dive into the flesh's pleasures forever, at least, before he died,

Which is precisely, methodically, due-diligently

What, with the raging vengeance of a Don Juan Tenorio,

He set about doing, working overtime, day and especially night,

Seducing all manner of female "volunteers" —

Courtesans from Toulouse's modern-day Montmartre,

Horizontals working Place Pigalle, prostitutas along Via Veneto,

In Amsterdam's red-light district, San Francisco's Tenderloin,

Manhattan's Times Square, Las Vegas's Bellagio Hotel —

No matter that he had to sell off his Berkshire Hathaway,

For the privilege of tasting the myriad spécialtés de la maison...

And which he did, without flinching, balking, batting both eyes,

Certainly not protestething too much,

Rather, indulging his lusty Dionysian appetites,

For one-hour rolls in the wild oats, with random Desdemonas,

Sowing his dotage-age clover, with Happy Hookers.

By the time his alter-cocker-clock ticktocked up to eighty-five

And he found himself unable to set his semen adrift,

Let alone get so much as a suggestive throb of an erection,

He realized that all his liaisons, rendezvous, trysts

Had been one prolonged hour with that odalisque Dementia.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

03/03/09 - (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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