What’s with you? Old days, you played the perfect
gentleman, rising at once when ladies
entered the room, stayed stately and erect
throughout conversation and beyond. Yes,
I recall those special times some fair lass
kept you leaping like Flipper beneath jeans’
zippered surface. One night you showed no class,
eked out your mouse in the movie house. Scenes
of such thrive in our archives. Why can’t you
shape up now? Show some control. Cash in on
your stint at the late show. You act like flu’s
left you noodle limp. Bring back that passion,
like nights barreling over Niagara.
I hate these fake days, reaching for Viagra.
Roger Armbrust
July 5, 2008
