A Reminder Poem by John S Knight

I attended a symphony dressed to the nines.
On exit, a passing young man of the street
pressed a dollar in my hand
and continued on...laughing.
I think he was pleased with the irony
and thought it wry symbol of the times.

Once, I would have let the dollar fly,
as ire from the trodden asp;
but since, gave up the ghost
who waxed so hot
in orbit of another's fire.

'It's kind to kind' men like to say
and though that's true of younger days,
give credit not to wisdom grown...
but time...who steals testosterone.


It was the sign of a thin line.