This is what happens when I am forced to write a summary.

He worked out
the last of his childish
bugs on a small wheel
spinning quickly
creaking to the SAT standardized
conclusion.

He had given them away
by choice and, if not
eagerly erased from the blackboard,
at least he was numb
when it happened.

Some of the fondest
moments of his life evacuated
as quickly as children
caught playing with gas soaked
tube socks and magnifying glasses.

He would catch himself affecting
a smile for it
and laughing for it
like a bloated clown
lying face down in his
own accomplishments,
wrapped around a bottle
and holding
in the entrails of a cut
that he couldn't remember
getting;
that he continued
to tear.

He had no business feeling

He was bad at it and
tips taper off with
inept service.