16 Jul 2017 – Sonnet

A sample of this neighborhood’s best breeding stock
comes, sauntering the sidewalk in her summer heat.
The selfsame trees which shade the concrete where she walks
protects me from all notice as I sit and eat.
Too old to contemplate the worn-out thoughts I thought
when I was her age, having made it – somehow – here.
Exactly what have all the dealt-out decades taught?
On what do old men meditate, if not dames’ rears?
“Thank God I’m now relieved from stalking streets for love?”
“Thank God the show’s shut down, tent folded – put away?”
“I need not hand-wring common sense from cooing doves?”
“It doesn’t matter now what any chick might say?”
Have I beat back my demons – brought strife to a halt –
or am I simply out of gas – here by default?