Originally posted 7/22/2007.
do not pretend
you haven’t grown up to be
one of those boys
who sits on the grass
at the highway rest area
and nudging your friends, because
I’m watching you do it.
do not gloss over your snickering
when you are called on it.
do not play that game.
stop with the defensive rationale
for using the word “bitchslap,”
for wearing the “mustache ride” T-shirt.
here comes the predictable comeback:
it’s a free country,
you’ve got freedom of expression
all over your smooth little ticked off face
and you’re not afraid to use it. it’s just
talk, you say. you don’t mean it, really, really,
not like that, never hit a woman, just a joke,
fuck you, fuck you, you PC sumbitch, fuck you.
well, I was never expecting much to come of this
so one favor only I ask of you:
you aren’t the kind of guy who does this.
do not play the whistle past the rape camp
game. do not tell me you never
saw a roofie in a friend’s hand
and said nothing. do not tell me
you wouldn’t do it again.
do not tell me you aren’t the kind of guy
who flips off a confrontation over this shit
and laughs with his buddies all the way to the car
and does it again as soon as you reach
the next place you mingle with the rest of the world.
just tell me you’ll remember this moment
if ever you hold your own son
as he asks you to explain the way things are.
just tell me you understand that
first things last.
tell me something surprising. tell me
it’s gonna end someday.