He envies the cello
cradled between the thighs
of Zoe Papadopoulos.

She’s at one with her instrument,
like the vibrato of her cello strings
and vibrates with libidinal heat.

He always gets her attention
when he stands for a trumpet solo,
playing the “Abblasen” baroque concerto.

When he gives her the hairy eyeball,
her dark eyes flash back knowing glances.
He dreams of Zoe every night,
waking up in the morning with sticky pajamas.

An Eagle Scout, he lives by the code
of the Boy Scout Handbook, embedded
in the residues of Victorian repression.

It warns of the danger of nocturnal emissions
that can weaken a boy’s strength,
especially, if he deliberately causes them.

Returning home on a rumbling school bus,
he can barely remove school clothes,
before discreetly depositing his emissions
down the drain of a bathroom sink.

Advised by the handbook to consult his conscience,
he wrestles with demons of shame and guilt,
as he worries about spurting seeds of progeny
that will never be.

It wasn’t till years later,
reading “Coming of Age In Samoa,”
where teens could enjoy sex whenever they felt like it,
that he realizes he’s living in a crazy locale.

Relieved of all traces of guilt,
he can laugh at the quip of Woody Allen:
“Don’t knock masturbation.
It’s sex with someone you love.”