Poems du Terre Trois-- Oui Ma Francais Est Merde

I
Baby, baby, oh, baby!
I gotta do this alone.
Phew! O.K.
Just a second.
No husband.
Lousy mother.
Good sister, far away.
I’m not a good friend.
I’m learning late.
Trying hard.
Treading water.
With Multiple Sclerosis.
But I gotta do this.
And I gotta do it alone.
O.K.!
Whattaya need?

II
Honey, stop talking about it already.
Can I tell you? You didn’t invent it.
Neither did we, but we improved it.
Your generation f*cked it up,
Excuse my French, but you did.

Look. We was there first, we was.
Oh, man! I remember I had to go
Clear to the other side of town,
To the East Side, for Christ’sake
For The Pill, in 1969.

I dunno, maybe we made it too easy.
But hippie boys wanted to do it right.
Oh, we wore out that “Joy of Sex” book.
Went from page to page and lemme tell you.
Our boys cared that the girls were happy.

Then, five or ten years later, you guys.
Used to it from Junior High...too young.
You didn’t even know what it was
Except that it felt good and the girls!
Why did you stop asking for your share?

I was a Cougar for about six years
But I gave it up because the guys,
Didn’t know what the Hell to do.
I shoulda kept the G*d-d*med book.
Kept the book and gave out lessons.

III
Let me think.
No, I’m sorry.
I don’t remember the details
Of your life.
It’s too sad.
Actually.
To contemplate on a May day.
You blew it.
It’s all your fault.
Maybe not.
I really don’t care anymore.
Keep looking
For  someone else.
To drag in.
Oh, King of melodramatic pain.
I’m long gone.
On my own road.
Free at last.

IV
The young ones spoke in Church today.
Beginning their journey of spirit.
So confident, headed on their way
With parents and mentors to help.

I try to laugh at the optimism
But somehow they touch my heart
I want to believe their faith and vision
And see that we can make it good.

There is money here, and family.
Never struck, never starved, no need
And yet, in them, leadership I see.
Please, Dear God, let it be. Amen.