Two short poems

An Ode to a boy on his Fifteenth Birthday
With summer's glee I climbed the tree
The tall one near your room
I climbed to get a childish peek
at childish breasts
and missus panties

Your shriek broke my firm grip
and now I lay dying
of shame
and me no breasts
and me no panties
and a new title
Sex Offender

I have always hated you for that.


To my Wife on the Third Week of the Month
Roses are red
My blue balls sigh ouch
You’re on the rag
I’m on the couch.