Three Score Ten Poem by Albert Ahearn

This spring he will turn seventy
And most people’s opinions think
He looks fantastic for his age-
Whatever the hell that might mean.
He has a hard time stifling his
Discomposure when they say that
To him but manages to grin
Like an ancient, anthropoid ape
Rather than express what he feels:
He knows it’s not a compliment;
It’s more like discriminating
Rhetoric than anything else;
Imagine saying to a child,
“You look good for a ten year old.”