A POEM - KEVIN THE GAY MALAY WHO WANTED HELP PICKING OUT UNDERWEAR

KEVIN THE GAY MALAY WHO WANTED HELP PICKING OUT UNDERWEAR
Kevin was the Malaysian kid
I met on the ferry
From Penang to Butterworth.
He spoke very little English
But for some reason
Wanted to know everything there was to know
About how I chose my underwear.
“I go to store, to pick underwear,”
He said to me, his voice high and whiny.
“I want know, how you pick your underwear.”
“well, Kevin,” I said,
“I just get whatever is cheapest.
I find some that fit me, and well, that’s it.”
“but what brand you think is good, and all that?
“Hmm. I don’t know what brands you have here.
I usually find that Hanes are cheap,
Or Fruit of the Loom,
Or whatever they have on sale.”
“so, you no have you girlfriend or mom pick them out?”
I gave it some thought.
At first it seemed so foolish.
Why would I want a girlfriend or mom,
To pick what felt good around my waist,
and around my ass and balls.
But then, some guys did have their moms
Or their girlfriend pick out their underwear.
And I bet their underwear was better than mine.
“well, Kevin. No.
I pretty much go with what’s comfortable and cheap.”
He kept at it,
grilling me about colors, brands, and styles.
I tried to convey to him,
That there really wasn’t that much to it.
I went into a store, maybe Wal – Mart or wherever,
Went to the underwear section,
And found the cheapest cotton boxers.
Then I’d gripe about them being a few bucks a pair,
But reason that a single pair usually lasted me years,
Unless it got lost in the wash or something like that.
I sat there and watched the land from the ferry,
as it slowly approached.
We both knew that Kevin was gay
And that he wanted me to go with him
To help him pick out his underwear.
Finally he just outright said it,
“will you, um...” he stuttered.
“can you, um, come with me, to the store?”
I smiled and laughed and snorted,
And gave it some thought.
I could really fuck with this kid.
I could get him to wear pink thongs
Or some shit like that.
Hell, I could ruin his life by just spending an hour,
Convincing him that zebra-striped tighties
were the only way to go, when it came to underwear.
But to be honest, I had better things to do.
I was in Malaysia,
Headed towards Kuala Lumpur, the capital,
And I had a bus to catch.
I had road to travel and places to see,
People, other than Kevin, to meet.
In the end, though, it wasn’t any of that.
It was just that picking out my own boxers,
Even if only every few years,
Was bothersome enough for me.
I wasn’t about to waste my time
While visiting some foreign country,
Picking out somebody else’s underwear.