The Test

This guy walking down the street
with his ego on a leash never learned
to do without diapers and he sucks his
rubber tit for the last drop of sympathy,
hunts for a shoulder to hang over while
he belches. He is windy with alienation
and hates his father-and-mother, my god
at his age he still hates his parents.
Oh, he sobs inside as he talks to himself
about the big L (you know, life) and feels
sorely about gravel inside his shoes which
he insists on keeping, look at him, he minces
down the sidewalk in a half-assed trot,
cuddling little ego in his arms, keeps up
a perfectly unintelligible chatter to which
no one listens, and hopes to feel lonely enough
to have one solid-silver hammered-out
emotion to talk about—let’s hit him in the
teeth with a couple of hard facts and see
if he runs . . .