Sine Nomine Poem by robert dickerson

Ach, I am getting so old
the girls don't see me and the boys
whistle and edge away.
Nights when Eros whines to go out
like a dog at the door
more and more doubtfully my blood
yields to his prompting:
more and more dutifully my bones
shake themselves out and ignore their aches.

Soon I shall dye my hair and sit
up nights sipping porto
that warm and velvety solvent of woe
and stare and stare
at the pages of a yearbook
by the lamplight's amber glow,
and reminisce and forget so much that I
will need to keep an appointment book
where peerless memory could once suffice-
And how will that look, you ask. Won't that be nice?