Aubade du vieux désagréable / (Morning Song of the Horrible Old Man)

Just – desserts

I’m old, I’m bold,
Unnaturally cold,
I won’t behave as I’ve been told.

My greasy dishes fill the sink—
I’d rather dally with a twink.

Parquet burnt with cigarettes
Won’t get me listed in Debrett’s

Kawartha ice cream by the quart
Is felony, but not a tort

I sleep till noon and mock your ethic:
Wage slavery is quite path-ethic

And when you weep from your bad luck—
Slashed tyres on an old red truck—

I say,

Come stay and smoke some treats
“With any luck we’ll stain the sheets

But if you’re just stale bread to butter
You’re more amusing in the gutter.

I bore, I scold
Again I’m rolled
Can’t be repackaged or resold

My Nikon’s taken
By the twink
(For previous crimes
Now in the clink

That little ho,
Serf’s fealty feigned,
In South Etobicoke

Yet once he’s out,
We reconvene; His
Lax attentions
To my penis

Not romance,
Just tedious hype
Best satisfied
While nude on Skype

Next time I feel desire awake
I mix a Betty Crocker cake

And shoot my semen
In the batter
To prove what does,
And does not, matter

Half the plan
Lick chocolate frosting
From the can)

Then serve the twink my cake
At tea-time
Revenge, I think, is sweetest

Full-frontal geriatric lust
Concupiscent until I’m dust

My earlobe hairs grow more deplorable

As I revel in being horrible.


2 thoughts on “Aubade du vieux désagréable / (Morning Song of the Horrible Old Man)

  1. Next you should walk along the beach, eating a peach, with your trousers rolled of course ✌️I felt as if I was reading my own journal, except your writing is much more poetic. Nobody warned me about self hatred becoming your raison d’être for getting up in the morning, as the years go by. My shoulder is sore from me patting myself on the back for not having kids and being tied down with no choices, what am I now? Old unattractive, no sex drive and being called geriatric by my doctor! Yay! Freedom!

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