Girls used to ask me out,
said things like “Hey, Stephen, want to date?”
(I mean what do you say in middle school?
[When you’re not talking about that girl—
giving blowjobs in the bathroom for a dollar])
I’d say “Yeah, sure.”
And pretend they didn’t exist.
Every one broke up with me within a week,
and every time I’d say “why?”
They’d shake their heads and walk away.
My mom was the first my dad ever had.
[he tells the story of their first date with understandable pride]
It’s been about 23 years now they’ve been happily married.
You read Aesop’s Fables?
I used to hear about “The Ant and the Grasshopper” all the time,
about the time I was puttin’ holes in windows,
chewin’ through bouts of anger with chaingun teeth,
‘n artillery fists.
See, the ant plans ahead.
He
(because it’s always, always the he—
that’s what they taught me, and I bet you too)
gathers enough food to last through winter,
and the grasshopper,
dances and
doesn’t,
and starves.
It’s supposed to be about the value of hard work,
but comes off like a cutting critique of the value of art.
(beside the point, but it’s true)
There’s such a thing as planning too much,
being too decisive.
You’ve got toes itchin’ to feel grass underfoot,
fingers to run through hair,
winds to rustle your clothes as you dance, dance, dance along.
Ain’t no room for the future in moments like that.
It’s cute that you think this is a critique of all the women who broke up with me.
Real, real cute.
I ain’t been so lucky as my dear old dad,
and you can criticize me all you want,
but I’ll head you off at the pass,
—horseback riding on a cloth blanket, six-gun at my side,
shootin’ up blanks, all bang and no bite—
I know it’s stupid to think,
but presented with the same role-model for all your growin’ up,
can’t help but feel like a failure when you can’t make things work,
an’ when you stop believin’ you’re worth keepin’
you stop dancin’ and start plannin’,
and you might have food for the winter,
but you ain’t had the fun of gettin’ there.
I’m tired of endin’ things because of things that ain’t happened yet,
but it’s a sort of addiction of mine.
Kind of like I’m addicted to fallin’ in love,
I’m pretty sure I’m addicted to fallin’ out of it.
If nothin’ else,
it gives me a shit ton to write about.
So all this is really to say,
LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND EVERYONE ELSE,
DO NOT DATE ME FOR KEEPS.
But I ain’t never said no to some things we’ll both regret in the mornin’,
‘n I got all this passion I’m passin’ out for free.
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