Let us go, then, me and you while the sky has a deep gray hue, much like my gloomy mood when I stand before the mirror, nude, and see my body, which was never great, now all saggy and overweight.
In the room I come and go,
wondering if I should try gingko.
It might help my declining brain.
Perhaps I should buy Rogaine,
for my hair is growing thin.
I have a turkey neck below my chin.
Maybe I should consider Botox,
for I know I'm no silver fox.
I should be a pair of ragged claws,
scuttling across the ocean bottom.
Wrinkles? Crow's feet? Splotchy age spots?
Check. Check. Check. I've got 'em.
I'm well into my dismal autumn.
Here's a thought with which to grapple:
Do I dare to eat an apple?
I don't dare to eat a peach
or wear a Speedo at the beach.
I've seen the mermaids in the water.
Each looks young enough to be my daughter.
Their voices sound sweet when they are singing,
yet their words are cruel and stinging,
for their song is all about me
and how I resemble a manatee.
I think I'll go home and watch TV
and have a cup of chamomile tea
before I slink beneath the covers
and dream about imaginary lovers. - Jeff Barnes
This is, of course, a parody of T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. While my poem doesn't have the literary elegance of the original, I think it is more fun to read. Sorry, T.S.
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