Men in Shorts
I don't want to become
That old man in shorts
Pale legs like crustacean claws
Black-dyed hair middle-parted
Combed back and blow dried
Bounding across the parking lot
With a self satisfied lope
That wilts the dandelions nearby
You don't need to see my legs
When I’m old and senescent
I'll be in pants, in comfortable shoes
Sitting over there on the bench
Crew cut gray, black glasses
Pretending to read a book
About ecological catastrophes
Watching the the world go by
All the young men in suits
Strutting with leather attaches
Whistling brash tunes
They’ll someday call Regret
Whispering to myself
We’re all going to die
As a matter of fact
And I wasn’t that
Nor that
Nor that
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