Fall, 2001

I stuck my hand in a metaphorical glove of bees

as I walked arm in arm

with you and your best friend, Mercedes.

We felt great. I felt great, blazed, circumcized

right there in plain view

on Westfield Blvd

near the 86th Street Steak 'n Shake.

​

You and your friend puff puff passed

and then left me

with the rest of an expensive joint

as you went to talk to older guys

with jobs

and varsity letters

and abercrombie shorts

and subwoofers in the trunk.

​

Manhood wasn't about growing a beard

or saving a princess

or learning how to sag and swagger.

I became a man when I let a beautiful young woman

walk away

with someone else.

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