If You Come First, Just Clean Up While You Wait – Sonnet Forty-Two

In words that never seem to write themselves,
I bandy like a boy who tries to win
His way in girlie pants where wonder delves,
Buts quells with swiftest slap before he’s in.

It always happens when I rush to meet
This self-inflicted drama of my clock
I could be calling out for things to eat,
Or on the sofa playing with my cock.

But no, a “poet’s” what I have to be,
Who plays with words instead of jerking off,
I’m sure they’re those who rather play to see
The which came first: the sonnet or the toss?

So, shoot me if I’m come a little late,
If you come first, just clean up while you wait.