By Rick Williams
It's hard when it happens:
(though no pun is intended)
days I wake up with wood
and it's crying to be tended.
I try not to succumb
every time that it rises
what if it's the best thing all day
and the rest I despises?
It never happens at bedtime
at least, without warning
when it could send me to sleep
and I'd smile until morning.
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