"Now?" Why not?" Andy replied. "Your mom's not home. Doesn't talking about all this give you a hard-on?" Well yeah, of course, but ... Ah ... what the...fuck, huh? Why not?"Then I heard a second zipper. Oh, fuck. My son was gonna take it out.Ten minutes later I had sneaked back out of the house and into my car. I waited a few minutes, then came back in the house, making a lot of noise this time and calling out to tell Robert I was home.He and Andy had gone up to his room by then, never knowing I. In a way I guess that will always be true.One thing that's a given among those who know of my love for poetry has been the inevitable inquiries about when I'm going to start writing my own. I've always demurred softly, pointing out that poetry is one of the creative arts that falls outside of a robot's skill set.Yet I cannot deny that over these last few short years I have now accomplished many other things that I once would have said exactly the same thing about.It would take much more than. More

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