when James was age seven
he was a cute lil' guy
believing in heaven
and adorably shy
his life was a joy, and what made it complete
were his Green Ranger curtains and matching bed sheets
Cream was for butter
and buns were just bread
the sexual gutter
hadn't clogged in his head
but...
On his thirteenth birthday the candles blew out
and with them the boy I just told you about
his face became dirty and exploded in pimples
which covered his forehead, his nose, and his dimples
his voice, how it cracked--his esteem even more
and there was suddenly hair where there had been none before
but it was not just his body that changed at thirteen
and his maturing mind turned to thoughts most obscene
while prior in life girls had little effect
now he couldn't stop thinking of the opposite sex
it occurred on the tenth, his parents away
and young James had the house to himself for a day
channel changer in hand, he surfed the T.V.
but no programs were on that fit his fancy
and at that very moment the thought entered his head
of two big-chested bimbos on a large waterbed
he suddenly realized how to better his time
and without second thought flipped to channel six-nine
as he looked at the scramble, pants down to the rug
his hand went below the equator and started to tug...
just as with heroin, one time is enough
for an addiction to form to the horrible stuff
and James, oh he loved it--to the point of obsession
and he could have been saved (had he gone to Confession)
but he sat on the sofa with unbuckled jeans
ogling R-rated movies for the steamier scenes
inside a pillow, behind a rock, under a willow, into an old sock
with the audacity to go as far as to do it in his neighbor's car
no means were too sordid, no place indiscrete
for that perverted pubescent to season his meat
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