20160914 (appreciate)

Beautiful woman? Check. Green eyes? Check. Red hair? Check. Pleasant
voice? Check. Can read romantic poetry in cool breezes while wearing
yellow skirt and white blouse? Stop. You had me at "beautiful woman."

An aging man is a crazy man.

Look at me, ahead of schedule

On the charts of decrepitude

In every way but the fleshy 

Appetites of my youth. I 

Hunger after beautiful women

Like Loki dives after every

Squirrel. I ask him “What

If you got one? You wouldn’t

Know what to do.” Alas, there

I fail twice—unable to catch,

Unable to consume. Their

Lithe supple thighs would 

Spring them yards from my

Grasp where they could stand

And laugh unafraid, hear me 

Wheeze and gasp, clutching 

My chest as I would rather 

Clutch theirs. It’s unseemly.

To confess even worse. Didn’t

He have a satisfying youth?

Wasn’t he dearly in love with

His beautiful wife? It’s bad 

Enough when the preteens

Look at us and smack their lips.

Soon, punkies, you’ll get your

Chance. But old men ought 

To know better. They have

Daughters, maybe granddaughters,

Our age. How would they feel

About their old friends leering

At us leaping on tennis courts

In flouncy skirts? I’d hate to

Think what goes on in their

Heads when we show up some

Evening in a tight black sheath,

Our hair done, pearls, a little

Eye makeup, and a plunging

Neckline. Not my own father

Gaping madly at every woman 

At the table, in the restaurant,

At the theater! Maybe we all

Should take our martinis and

Douse each one of them 

Just for starters—the pigs!

I’d be wet for a while but

We’d all get over it. The fire 

That can’t burn still won’t

Go out, whatever the stock of

Cocktails. It happens every time 

I see M and yesterday I met

L who fits the ideal pattern

Imprinted on my DNA--

A little freckling, green eyes,

Red hair I think, lovely thin

Ankles supporting heaven 

In between, and from both

Pleasant voices, reading to me

Romantic poets on a blue

Summery day, like yesterday,

As cool breezes toy with 

Their hair and pages flutter

In the sun like hems on yellow

Dresses while lapels of white

Blouses flap and kiss their cheeks. 

c. J.S.Manista, 2016