How I Became

I didn't realize until
my first year of college
that I needed to become a man.
I was content as a boy and my
single mother did nothing to
convince me otherwise.
She needed to feel needed
and I saw power in that.

A little girl of
twenty-one, fat cheeks,
fleshy breasts, popped
my cherry. Less than one
full rotation of the earth
later, she professed her love
for someone else.

A woman of
forty-two, tired skin,
jaded eyes, flattered me.
Cuffed slacks, silk
boxers, shallow midday
kisses, coffee afterglows.
Less than one
full revolution of the sun,
she tossed me away,
one hand on my head,
one squeezing my balls.

I tried to write
the love poem
the "forever and ever",
but once you stop believing
in love, it's easy to
disbelieve anything.
Women are supposed
to be people, too,
but there's insufficient proof
in this heart. It's not
a simple war. Their goal is
conversion, not concession.
I'd rather leave them with
my body and take my
own soul, damned.
I'll feel no pain in hell,
the licking of the flames
faintly reminding me of a blow job.