Nursery

You are held
and the room becomes a friendly place.

Or, held too tightly, flesh reverts to stone
and stone becomes a weapon.

Touch a son or daughter as a bride
and touch becomes
both blessing and a curse.

I see apes groom and mother cats lick kittens
and I cry.
The only thing that's worse
is not to touch.

Is what I fear emotion or control,
the touch I do not trust
because the mold that fashioned me was broken

or sold to the next highest bidder?

I am old,
at least I am beyond that middle age
where fat men promise
answers.

What I have is bourbon in a glass
and my own ass
that if I had the power I would save.