At thirty-three he was too old
to wear but shirt, tie and slacks
and, on Fridays, jeans.
He would sit prim
on his nun's twin bed
and call, "Bullshit shenanigans."
Burning cigarette in hand,
he broke the mold on his head
and took the men out to lunch by 10.
"Why do you always ruin our fun?"
exclaimed celebrity-voiced bugs.
His reply was silence and a smile.
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