Lift off
beyond sixty,
and here my heart
as flutter-fed as
any girl’s.

The patchwork years
blew by.  Still, I
in some odd state
I dodge as not senescence
have faith that few will note

and fewer care:  that two
enfeebled gray-haired goonies
flirt in the pharmacy line
and talk of the future as if
there were miles and fathoms more.




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