Put, I pray thee, thy hand under my thigh: and I will make thee swear by the Lord
—Genesis 24:2
Have we all not one father? hath not one God created us—Malachi 2:10
Call no man father—Matthew 23:9
Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you—John 15:16

Quick! In the tool shed. Get outta the rain—you look soaking wet.
Maybe just a thundershower…it’ll pass over in a few minutes—wanna bet.
Little Buddy, sit down, take off your shirt while I drink a bottom’s-up swig.
No, you take a few swallows first, this whiskey’ll make your little pecker grow-up big.

Well, how ‘bout we light up a smoke?
You take a couple-a drags. When the rain quits we’ll go to Leo’s…I’ll buy you a Coke.
It’s gonna rain cats and dogs for awhile. Boy, let’s make a deal.
Scoot closer to me…I think your little peter needs a good get-IT-up feel.

That’s a boy…now…here…go…go on…you feel mine.
Relax Little Buddy…Oh-oh, yes! That’s my boy…you’re doing IT fine.
I’m like your daddy when he has a hard-on…he feels he’s alive-for-real.
Boy! you’re already big as a man, but nobody’s gonna know you did IT with me—so don’t go and squeal.

No!! No!! No!!

CRY UNCLE

No!! No!! No!!

After forty years at Fort Knox, old Legionnaire Master, Samuel Time, retired with no peace in his eyes.
Yet in his body’s desir, my manhood was born…come to realize.
Maybe destiny? A primal act beyond my boyhood will and choice.
I can still hear…Oh-oh, yes!…that’s my boy…now you feel mine…his stranger’s voice.

I smell his old body-feel slowly…mine is the stroking hand.
Blended Early Times spit-whisky, greasing easy below his belt band.
I wrong- sided- out when his shrivele-old softness swelled-up hard as a rock.
I was scared stiff! He said, Relax, I’m not playin’ football…I didn’t tackle, so don’t you block.
Afraid I’d die there and now…my head spinning back and forth, my body begin to reel.
Uncle Sam, Santa Claus, God…Now old Time himself…I touched IT, like Death IT felt to feel.

Was doing IT this real with Dad? He remarried at 69, after Mother’s death.
In his few words about his wedding nights, I held my 29 years of breath.
We greased me up with spermicidal foam, I was afraid I’d tear her apart.
IT is Dad and me the same sex-object head and love-subject heart.

He died in 1981, leaving my sense of manhood evermore guardedly in doubt.
Old legionnaire Time, like Dad’s dead body in my head, still knocked me up- around and down-about.
The Bible says we all have one Father: Dad as ghostly old Master Time’s die-hard twin?
God, I’ll cry Uncle or Daddy forever, but whose manhood do I need to win?
Jesus//# Uncle Sam?!+ Santa@%* Daddy!!!…my head.
God, give me loving perception… to be and behold my memory of the dead.