The Man
Giddy with the approaching blizzard,
the girls at the Starbucks on Boston Street
where I go after my morning swim,
greeted me with the enthusiasm
usually reserved for a long-lost relative,
and, already knowing my standard order –
venti latte – checked the box on the cup,
wrote my name in black marker:
“Charles The Man,” underscored twice.
In another week I’ll be a grandfather,
and isn’t this what I always feared?
Cute girls regarding me as harmless,
unthreatening, cuddly as a stuffed toy,
no longer in the sexual arena?
But I was flattered to be noticed,
remembered – I felt the love.
And I’m still a sucker for pretty girls.
I love this poem! Of course as an outsider to the specifics here, I think the baristas really thought you were hot and thought you should know! OF course when I, more than a decade older than author or speaker of this poem, get flattering comments, I make the same assumption--they're saying let's make this granny happy. And it sort of does. Kudos, Charles, for capturing this in a terrific poem.
ReplyDeleteHa, I thought only woman looked in the mirror and thought where did the years go?
ReplyDeleteExcellent directness in language of human connection and reflection.Congrats!
ReplyDeleteIn perfect stance
ReplyDeleteas a lover
Charles knows a bacchanal,
so give him cover!