Jason Melvin

Morning Wood

It’s hard
in the morning
when hoping for stiff
but the mind is limp

I fiddle
my pen
but it refuses
to wake up

As a younger man
every morning came
with something to grab
under the blanket

Stiffness still
rises with the sun
it just breathes
in my back and bones

A whisper
raised eyebrow
or simple suggestion
can still pitch a tent

But no matter
how much
I stroke
and stroke
thumb on the tip
click and click
an impotence of ink
nothing squirts out

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