Self-Doubt, Clarence Caddell (September 2026)

Self-Doubt

Is it that I am simply growing old,
Halfway to ninety, blood pressure a mess?
I hate my nervous sexual address.
A few thrusts and I often have to fold
And on my knees admit I was too bold,
Or leave it to tongue and fingers to confess.
Sometimes a mental image works to bless
My efforts and to thwart the spreading cold.
 
Would it be different if she were one
I loved when I was virile? One of those
The others didn’t want to hear about,
Who made me feel like nature’s only son,
Who chose me for a while and whom I chose?
I’d need a time machine to put by doubt.