Peter Pan
Forgive me, women.
I am a cruel and insatiable man.
The saga of toys and afternoon naps
has never ended.
The bottle I clutch is a stronger one now,
and the thumb I suck it sometimes yours.
I cannot grasp what should be done
and there’s no kind of effort to do it.
You see, I say, I am a man.
And I’m oh so right for the times.
The Moment
When the cold grasp reaches from the dark and pulls me,
protesting, like a parade fist thrust high in the air,
I will remember the moments I knew it would.
It has always been there.
On the breezes,
under beds,
between pages and breaths,
on the highest shelves,
pushed back against the wall.
It has waited,
taking its time,
knowing that its time is all that matters.
I have seen it.
I have known this.
But I have been distracted by the antics of its effects,
And so I have ignored it,
making great efforts to,
hoping that, if I did not pay it any attention,
it would not pay me a visit.
But I will remember each moment I knew it would.
And it will.
Pat Boccuzzi is a recovering comedian turned writer. A fan of warm weather, he inexplicably lives in Boston, Massachusetts. His storytelling and antics have been featured on NPR affiliates and the Boston Globe. On maudlin nights, he fancies himself a poet.
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