Who is this stranger in my bathroom mirror? The ghost of an ancestor? If only he were clearer… Where are my specs? Damned things are never there, Wait - they rest above, perched in my hair. What hair? Don’t mock my shining pate, Premature loss has always been my fate, And hair’s not the only thing to disappear: I haven’t had my manhood up at all this year, Although I’d never know, below this gut, When conditions might be ready for a rut. Thank goodness, I’ve been spared the chance For medical emergency, should I attempt that dance! Yet I surely grudge the possibility I'd meet A cute responder, who’d sweep me off my feet. Come to think, I’d no doubt be splayed already: Even at the best of times I’m none too steady, And such an opportunity to spread my bony knees Would be lost, in circumstances sure to seize This worn heart, which thank goodness still provides That essential spark, and keeps my hopes alive.     I smile when I get feedback. Click the button above and make me happy.   Back to My Poetry Page The Authors Haunt Author Directory The Authors Haunt Library The Authors Haunt Home

	Stories, Poetry & Content © 2010 Merkin
	Site Layout and Graphics © 2010 Rob Hawes