Soda Shop Poem by chris bowen, a.k.a to wit

the gentlemen scurry by, hat in hand
they want a friend, and they dream a million
not bad for a boy who wears a suit and drives a car
never wavered, never chasing a star
but the boys gotta have it, she's thirteen
to him a message, sent through a dream
whats it like, on that bike?
whats the ride, hidden inside?
do i die and cave, send a flower?
walk to bus stop, watch the hour?
flex the muscle, executive power
break my vow, or, remain indiscreet
watch the girl, walk down the street
ive done chosen, the one ill approach
not much of trust, just let her know
i need her, she's my dream
my wife, my kids, my job, dont mean anything
i would make all her dreams come true
if she would just say, i do
one simple act, a natural, in fact
if you dont want it, i cant take it back
you kill me when you wear, your workout shorts
or bounce your basket ball, at the tennis courts
keeping myself in sorts, has not been easy
i wonder if, youve even seen me
i dont pretend to be, a johnny rough
joined the marines, thats plenty tough
but i want, thats enough, and i do pursue
how do i get you, to marry this too?

just a prose, of a man, as he goes, through time.his line.