Wish-To-Be Shapes Poem by Oleg Vorobyov

Men over forty lack the thews of youth,
And women likely lack the shape and grace.
Men likely turn misshapen and uncouth,
And women may fall short their charming race.

The shrunken hormones hardly harmonise:
Some steps retrace when we are overhill.
We can, of course, don artificial guise,
But such cannot vacuities refill.

We dress to kill for glamour and repute
(The scabbards like constraining artifice)
But can one face some raw and brazen dude
In Adam's suit by Nature improvised?

Or Eve's? No doubt, art of donning dress
To cover somewhat flabby, faded, scabbed.
Yet, finer art is how to undress
And show what it's like, whatever crabbed.

And crowded gyms, and fitness-spas on move,
And scalpel - youthful image to retrieve.
With such ideas men and women soothe
Their injured Egos not to be aggrieved!

Ideal shapes by Media are urged
(The faultless well-proportioned mannequins)
We fall for it deluded. What a scourge
To pamper Selves on questionable means!

Lo: Rubens gave us forms, so Rembrandt did.
(The ugliness usurping beautified)
Mind: Mamma Nature's clammy, crude, candid,
Her kids of moulded clay has never fied!

24-25 April 2018