Date: February 22nd, 2022 11:14 PM
Author: Awkward Boyish Mood
He told them this one to say his dick doesn't work:
On the Particular Child You Cannot Have
The doctor clasps your shoulder, man to man;
You can’t have a baby.
You don’t stand a chance
Without impossible sums of money.
Even with them, being mauled by a bear
In the library is, you imagine.
Only slightly less likely.
Like a bear, you drift to a dark place
For just a little while.
You admire the torque of your hands.
Your straight, imperishable teeth.
It doesn’t matter, your lover comforts.
But in five years, will she be terrorized
By nephews? Will she moon over baby shoes
Small as an ear? She takes your hand now.
You promise her good hum or near uxonousness.
Travel, many guests. You say you are up
For anything. The words become true
As you say them, like reasonable prayer.
Child, spoken then, becomes a cave in air.
Waits to be filled with all the cloudy grace
And griefs you can heft
Dreams of blunting winter, the heraldic stars.
Honey that is bright and slow to fall.
(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5038170&forum_id=2#44013988)