He must be twice her age at least

With mottled, wrinkled skin

His hair is dyed a bottle-black

His face is wintry thin.

Blue veins snake down his bony hands

Like roots of ancient trees

He wears a pair of checkered shorts

Above his scrawny knees.

The girl he’s with is beautiful

Her shoulder-length black hair

Surrounds and frames her dark brown face

Her shoulders soft and bare.

He drinks his Mekhong whiskey down

And orders yet again

The girl he’s with just sighs and sneaks

a smile at other men.

They sit in silence, the silly old man

And the girl who stole his heart

Someone should whisper in his ear

“Too many years apart!”

Someone should whisper in his ear

“Your girl is bored to death!

Your eyelids droop, your shoulders stoop

There’s whiskey on your breath!”

Someone should whisper in his ear

That if he didn’t pay

He might just find his lady love

Would soon be on her way.

He wallows in her loving gaze

So puppy-dog serene

Serenity for her of course

His ATM machine.

But he might whisper in our ears

“Well, don’t you think I know?

I made my choice and so will you

With fewer years to go.”

I’m not sure what to make of him

There is no guiding rule

I wonder if he could be both

A wise man and a fool.

He turns his head to pay the bill

And suddenly I see

It’s a mirror on the wall

The silly old man is me.

Copyright Dean Barrett 2014