When was he last called “Sonny Boy?
last told to “wash behind his ears”
when was his last sock darned
when did those years pass him by?

When first, did his heart pound so hard,
 at a  coquettish  smile under ringlet hair
was it aged eight on a bench classroom chair
where Hazel  looked at him as perhaps worthwhile.

Why, in his teens was he so mixed up
To be certain of being afraid, yet raging sulkily
ugly, aggressive – only to silently cry a boys  pillow rage
when girls replaced bicycles in the hormone phage.

When did the world spin so fast
That he  thought would last and last – and last
stab relentlessly time and again – trustingly
To, what he then became.

The  lover, husband, father,  new
holding babies – as years slipped by
homes filled with costly wares that grew
lost in the flicker of another lovers sigh.

He smiles now to think of the past
the one he once thought would last and last…
treachery’s fickle hand of trust
about yesterday he no longer askes.