Kid Little thought toys would do it.
At fifteen, a Bad Influence showed him Playboy.
He thought that would do it.
He turned 21 on the day the drinking age changed to 19.
He thought booze would do it.
It only made him sick.
He saw guys with pickup trucks full of empties,
belligerent in line, smelling of swill.
An ill-placed road sign, just before the beer store,
said Dead End.
Then his friends, even his brother,
became the Jokers, the Smokers, the midnight Tokers.
He went along. He thought that might do it.
Until the day he found himself under a spreading chestnut tree,
out of his wits.
To the Church he looked, and thought
This Must Do It. But.
Too many false prophets and hypocrites there were.
On this sunset day, this time of now,
the old man sways, crestfallen, in his chestnut rocker.
Marking time.
This will do it.

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