A poem.
A man came on the bus today
He had skinny legs
He looked like that kind
You know the kind
Acts as though he's not 50
Short shorts
His hair was hip enough
It managed
To mask the age evident in color
Specks of gray and silver
If you kept it short
Like he did
You could get away with youth
Then a smell ascended
It was pungent
Like middle school gymnasium
Mixed with urine
And strong
It reminded me of coaches
Gym teachers, old men
Men who've clouded my past
With that impulse
To not be a pansy
To regard women as objects
And spurn those against us
There was one
He was said to be banging
A guidance counselor
He was definitely a homophobe
He frequented this place
In Hurley, a bar
The Hurley Mountain Inn
Where he drank and drank
Verbally assaulted women
And the TV screen
When his team wouldn't win
Fuck them
They're pansy bitches
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