Mehh Poem by Floyd Crenshaw

in old age
will i still believe
in good fortune?

will i have a kind demeanor?
will i judge without doubt
everything that i see
like some black rimmed critic
at a movie store?

will i receive the worst attention
when i reminisce to
an audience of pity
with tedious tales of
puffed successes and
other's tragedies, but
never my own?

will i speak of women
with lust smothered detail
or just have a baked potato?

will i have a worthy past?
will i still write or give up?

meh, maybe.