Caligula Manipulae

Caked in cosmoline
your vagabond histrionics
and left-lane ergonomics
perpetuate a culture of complacency.

The hypotenuse cluttered
by nesting dolls
a generation of men
who kept rubbers in their wallets
for the sake of tonguing their toothaches
crossing paths with fellow suitors
who'd tap a midnight window
in case of episiotomy.

Much of it's like boxing:
They only remember
your last fight
and whether or not
you took the Government cheese
having lunch in a daytime bordello.

Refrigerate after opening.
Kill the messenger and its parents.
Don't shrug.
Look it up, you scoundrel.

Splitting the difference
won't squelch a braggart's lament.

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