02 2017 poetry marathon

prompt: yearnings

Another Day, Another Night
by Paul Sanford

I meet a lot of total strangers at the comedy open mics.
Most of them are fifty years younger than I am.

Last night I dragged my aged bones out across the toll bridge
the billion dollar monument to the ego of the architect
with its hundreds of custom made five sided light poles

The other performers were unfamiliar to me,
an unsorted gaggle of beginners, both serious and crazed.

One petite older woman – my age – spoke in poetic images
in an amusing way.
I couldn’t help noticing that she was attractive and eccentric.
Just my type.

I formulated a vague plan of meeting her,
even though she seemed guarded and lonely,
so I contrived to take the empty seat next to hers
while she was up and about.

A younger woman would have given me a smile and welcomed me,
the harmless grandfatherly figure,
but this pixie stared straight ahead,
careful to give no clue that she noticed me.

It was as awkward as riding on the school bus to Jr. Hi.

I am always surprised to find I still have yearnings to find a mate,
even though my indolent life and low energy elderly body do not attract flocks of admirers.

I long for the past decades in which I was ambitious,
impatient, snorting at the gate with a yearning to do all sorts of things.

Now my medication has all that craziness put away in moth balls,
and I sleep a lot.