Slightly late, My apologies.

You wonder where he got to, with a bollock like that

The memory you have is of its outline on the chalkboard
in your form class at school. But I remember the hilarity
for you; how he pulled his trousers down, weighing one
against the other with sweaty hands; finding one wanting.

There was a darker side, of course, how everyone turned
their heads and kept shtum when the teacher came in,
his head framed, when sitting, by the shaky chalked line.
No-one embellished the picture with wiry hairs, or legs.

No-one suggested a visit to the doctor, assumed
it was under control. But where is he now, with a bollock like that?
How long has it been, for the swelling to fade?