To judge or not to judge

Well, he was just doing what boys do,

Coping a feel, rubbing against skin.

That’s what little boys do, gross males.

Snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails,

Hands like an octopus  feeling the way,

Pushing restrictive clothing away.

All in fun, nothing amiss here,

Nothing so drastic, nothing that much to fear.

 

Take a step back and realize that this man now has two daughters,

Would he allow what he did to happen to them in their quarters?

Drinking makes one loss their inhibitions,

Blacking out and losing sight of decency, amok with ambitions.

And all of a sudden, the drinking stops,

All of a sudden, the suds have disappeared with a sweep of the mop.

How did the man change from sloppy drunk to a man of due diligence?

When did this man change from the toad with warts and become a prince?

 

And the sight of the face torn with outrageous denial,

The sickening face tortured with a twisted smile.

Have you not gotten stinking drunk he throws out a retort,

I now have to give props to a twisted view of what is to be bought.

He sweated, he drank like a fiend in a steam bath,

And yet his testimony did not add up even in simple math.

You hang out with drunks in at an orgy not a party for kids,

Sounds like a conformation of soda cans with punctured lids.

The sounds of gas exploded from these cans thunder in my head,

The concept of this being high school and college turns my blush to deep red.

 

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