How To Capture A Mate After Sixty
If you have not noticed, I have awesome
demons who are hard to extricate. I’ve
tried for years, but they are very hard
to bring to the table called this is what I need
to do, with or without you. There’s a man
out there thinking like me. No demons welcome.
It’s worth a try.
I tell my intermittently fading brain
this is no time to be particular. You ain’t
the sweetie pie you were at twenty or
the perfect picture you were at eighteen.
I have cholesterol in blood vessels
older than most people I know or meet.
Sixty nine is more than an age,
it’s a library full of dusty volumes
of tales better kept unread.
Arthritis is a funny word which means
I should not crochet like I did at
thirty. I guess the best thing to do
is memorize all the baseball and football
statistics since 1954 to capture the arms
of a man placed seriously sweet
around me. I’m not particular actually. Any
part will do. A kiss, I remember those.
They were nice things to feel.
Wet, and tongue touched. They still
do it that way now, right?
When you get older, parts just wear out
on their own initiative and you wonder
where the hormones went. You thought
they were close by yesterday or a few
decades ago, but they must have gone the way
of the memory. They say the liver is necessary
for life, so I don’t want an alcoholic. Rich
would be okay, I could put up with all new stuff.
© allets 2020