Tomfoolery, Seventeen

Too shy for girls, yet there they were,
and too old for everything in my Boy's Life
save the jokepage and its dry Tom Swifties.
"Room for more than one," Tom said, fortuitously.
"No bruises," said Tom, unabashed.
Desire I had, confirmed, but low vocabulary.
Also a burn my Confirmation never cured —
"Some you lose," Tom said, winsomely —
the urge to be promiscuous. Til then, words.
Pent already, what could a boy repent?
I waited but I wanted, Swiftie-esque, I wanted
to be titillated, pusillanimous, and indicative.
For Lent I gave up Easter ever after,
which Tom forwent, relentlessly.

Kevin McFadden
Antioch Review
The End of Time
Volume 64, Number 3
Summer 2006

Copyright © 2006 by the Antioch Review, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

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