Slip

I tried on his underwear once.
Slid them up over my hips
and I was a man. No.
A boy: adolescent, uncertain,
amazed and afraid of the gun
that was suddenly cocked.
No one prepares you for this –
the Adam, the urge, the fragile
egg begging to live and
the double entendre of crush.
Is this what it’s like when
the whole world is riding
on you and your unsteady aim?
What if this loneliness
only increases with age?
No wonder his hormones still
rage at the end of their chains.
No wonder his heart took a hike.
If happiness hinges on this,
Honey, I’ll take the lace.
I have seen for myself:
there is no stronger sex.
I took it all off:
underwear, apathy, fear –
left it all there in the unknowing
dark of the drawer.