ROAD.

   I loved a stretch of Hell's Gate's road,
   Deserted, lonely as a life,
   That snaked up hill towards a brow
   As proudly as a swelling cock,

   That swiftly falling thrilled my crotch
   Before its next sharp steep assault
   Upon the sky, a fleece-soft hole
   It strained to enter on its way

   As in the back while father drove
   And mother sat away from him
   I tried, forbidden in between,
   To plug the gap with fantasies.