when i was just a little goy

every
saturday
my parents took me
to the zoo.
yes,
i guess
i was lucky, really,
to have
a traditional zooish
upbringing.

an ice-cube

not an iceberg.

tepid, at best

me
hot?
not.

i'd rather be

someone else.

especially

from myself.

i hate

that we live so far apart. and can't meet to say hi whenever we want. sigh. sigh. sigh.

apology for self

because
some of us
prefer our talk wry
our martinis dry
and our culture high.

isn't it sad

how hard he tries to be clever?

my hero

is acid-tongued stewie griffin. that's right. i look up to a baby. what of it? he sings. he's snarky. he's superior. he doesn't get along with others. that will do nicely, thank you.

we both knew

you could do better.

plus ça change

i'm tall, athletic-looking, ridiculously well-read, and utterly unimpressed with any of that. i'm slowly losing my hair and i don't care. i have a skin cancer, which doubles in size every six months, and i'm not going to do anything about it. i live five minutes from the beach, in a nice area, and i don't make the most of it. i'd like to be fluent in french and move to manhattan, but know i won't. i like people who are nothing like me.