boy, come on. we both deserve it and if we're wrong no one will notice it. we can't stay young, not than i'm opposed of it....

ivy league:

you're headed for starched collars
and gold plaques of park benches,
just like you claimed when we were twelve.
and, somehow, i'm headed south
to make a bond with all i've hated.

not that it'd matter if i lied,
but i'm scared. my skin is never
quite as tough as my boots.

in some way, i'm convinced that an acquired drawl
will be my most prized mating call.
and with your short hair and ski trips,
you'll become the type of boy
i've always batted eyelashes toward.

like a mixed-filial oedipus rex,
i'll say it all to you.
"come on, let's get lost."