I think about all of the things I will not be able to explain to my children,
And I shake my head.
At least they'll be able to change their oil.
The crash course that they are on is one that I too am riding,
So I can't be too self critical.
We can't all be the Chinese: that wise race we are always being told
about on vitamin bottles in our grocery stores.
What American could've intuited a healing factor in the grain of the deer turd,
Or the stolen memories,
That rest in the pistil of a rare purple flower?
What Canadian or Englishman would've thought to see the increased
sexual potential to be found
In a bowl of shark fin soup?
Of course I am joking at the Chinese. I know that they are as stupid
as we, and that there is no real we or they.
It's just easier to look elsewhere for help when the wisest person you
have ever known
Is terrible at parallel parking.
A HUSBAND'S LAMENT
The lure of a spicy, foreign vagina.
Burrowing deep into the tufts of that unexplored jungle:
That is what I am told a husband's fantasies
Are made of.
Please, give us a little more credit,
Or perhaps a little less.
I do not feel this dangerous pull
Toward unlawful cocksmanship.
Hell, I didn't even play sports in high school.
Give me a jigsaw puzzle and a pint of dark beer.
I will commit my adultery there.
They say it's thwarted dreams
That makes a married man cranky.
I say, no again.
It is the realization that there must be an answer ready
For every time the lid wasn't screwed back onto the toothpaste,
Or a bag was not put back in the garbage can after it was emptied.
Give me a yard and I will mow it.
They say a married man isn't happy because he isn't free.
What is freedom? What is happiness?
A married man is a philosopher, above all.
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