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.