In the moment at which her lovely shoe has just reared back
After I’d come to a stop atop it
My temerity in having been shoved down the flight of steps
At the bottom of which she stands
Having resulted in annoying her dainty foot
What inspiration’s thrusting it forward
To bury itself amid ribs
No longer mine?
In the quiet conversations betwixt Sunday school and service
What inspiration’s guiding the gossip
About yet another young man
Following a call of seduction
Followed by a call to the police
And the final call to a court that believes her every word
No longer his?
In the august halls of corporate consummation
Where products once designed to last
Crafted to provide quality service over years
Via jobs that straddled whole careers
What inspiration’s driving the quarterly cycles
Moody and impertinent as menstrual periods confined
No longer home?
In the light like it’s like light of heavenly grace
Where before an audience of like familiar litsos rolls or sidles
The most lovely young devotchka you could ever hope in all your jeezny
Whom Alex the large would like to have right down there on the floor
With the old in-out real savage
What inspiration’s coming skorry as a shot
Making him want to like heave in entrailing keeshkas
No longer his?
In the society rendered bereft of male vigor and energy
What inspiration’s asserting steady direction
Toward care and heartfelt protection
Of those weaker more wayward of less physical capacity
Shifting drifting changing winds in exchange for brash audacity
Armchair sports the glib vestige of masculinity
A world that once could’ve had a purpose
No longer ours?