She checks me out, with smoker's stains
On crooked teeth and looks about
Ten years less old than me, which makes
Her forty-nine.  I thought that old,
When I was seventeen, just been
With two sweet girls, about my age,
Insanely jazzed to learn that thing
Which makes us so ridiculous.

A fool can keep his wits about.
An old one learning not to fret,
Has lost enough to be sincere,
Steps often where he needs to be,
With less reluctant feet. My need
For naked words remains obscene.