Do I Complain?

I live where the toilet seat's never down
Or if it is he pisses on it.
We pick our nose and fart and snicker
And when we burp we hardly notice
The niceties of gentler folk
But figger that's the way it goes.

I guess it looks like a stoner pad
With posters on the bedroom wall
And records crated on the floor
(My books are boxed and kept away
In basement storage out of sight).

With a mountain bike dangling over the bed
He sleeps on alone, cause I snore so loud
But really it's cause mom might learn
Of the man who rubs her little boy's feet
And covers him with whiskered kisses
On the bottom that she washed
And diapered not so long ago
And that won't work.

But I don't really snore that much
And beds don't really cost that much
And we don't need her card that much
And I don't need this shit that much
And I should not complain so much
But I can only take so much
And the sofa hurts my back so much
But God, I love that boy so much
That I put up with way too much
Of all the things he fears so much;

Like honesty and growing up
And getting a life
And living with me
For a number of years
His best, perhaps, but mine as well
I may make his life a living hell
But the hoops I jump are way too high
For a guy my age with such a past
And a heart that breaks at the drop of a hat
In dramatic fashion, rest assured
And why the fuck can't I be a kid
Again and dress the way I want?

I thought he was a gift of Grace
At least that's what I said to all
My friends back home when I'd complain
About the way I was denied
My heart's desire.

Well, gift he was, but what a gift!
The poetry I wrote that boy!
The way I cried such bitter tears
On the phone with all those unpaid bills
For calls, collect of course, when we
Would do his homework or just whine
About the distance we endured.

The months of desperate living when
I thought I'd never get my wish
And leave home with its resonance
That I feel now that I'm away
In the Frozen North with pale white folks
Who don't eat food with any spice
And can't take half the heat I can
Though I would cuss it just the same
But that's my right for all the years
I did down south.

And my heat's real
The heat that changes everything
It touches won't change me
I made it
And I'll take it, thank you
It's mine, and it's in my blood
To burn much hotter than these folks
I fear I damage him as well.

I know that he appreciates
The things I do – the way I dote
And rub his feet until he sleeps
And write his papers (my idea)
And coach him through his next exam
And go to school to watch him kiln
And take long walks all over town
Because he worries over me
His dirty secret, like Anne Frank
Invisible to everyone
But him.

He is still my heart's desire
Exquisite torture so prolonged
That I don't buy it anymore
I volunteered; I'll take my lumps
A little longer, anyway
And let him cook and do my clothes
And ration out the cash I give
Because he's better in that way
Less damaged, maybe, I don't know.

He seems to show proprietary
Interest in his favorite pet
And takes me shopping at the mall
To dress me up and show me off
Though he's still scared to hold my hand
In public when I steal a kiss
Though no one's looking.

I guess I shouldn't bitch so much.