oh the times, oh the customs

cute young men scurry in and out of their
houses furtively, secretively, "don't
touch me," they say. "don't talk to
me," "don't look at me," and then
in their separate rooms alone naked flat on
their backs on their big sweaty beds,
they jerk themselves off at near
warp speed, as if attempting to
break the speed of light with
their hands alone, a blurr, a
splash of cum, another splash of cum, maybe
one more dribbly little splash-ette,
and then it's done. they scurry in and
out of their houses alone, scared,
afraid, of everything, just everything.
say "good morning" to them
and they look at you like you'd
just requested incest.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem -- "oh the times, oh the customs" -- was published as the poem of the week in online Zygote in my Coffee, Issue #76, January 8, 2007.)