I Ain't Your Daddy

She glances at her young friend whenever
I say something edgy,
Giggles.
Likes to talk to me,
But seems to think I'm a circus act;
Her father is my age, and
A very serious old dude,
Who retired early,
Reads Time and Newsweek,
Keeps a daily record of his blood pressure
And always votes.
How old are you, Dennis? she asks again,
As if she doesn't believe the last answer I gave her.
Not that old, I say, and make a strong move,
As if to grab her.
She backs up, giggle dying,
Even looks the tiniest bit scared.
Horny would be much better
But scared will do.

- Dennis Wilken

(06.29.08)

Changing Times

I burn a lot of days lately
Asking myself where those other, better days went;
Every newspaper filled with new names
My heroes old, fat, or even dead,
My accomplishments mouldering in cornered cardboard boxes,
Or rusting on dusty shelves;
Me, no real change,
Still look ten years younger than I am,
Although looking 53 at 63 is far less
Of an accomplishment
Than looking 28 at 40,
And draws a smaller female crowd too.
There don't even seem to be any of those pretty girls left,
Who talk about writers without reading their books.
It's movies now, and no longer than 90 minutes,
Much less subtitled, hardly has meaning.
Where's your computer?
You still have a VCR?
It's not looking good for this
Young-looking
Old man.

- Dennis Wilken

(06.29.08)

You Do It

Sixty-fucking-three,
An age requiring a curse;
Sprawled across my bed
Empty, except for me most of the time
These days;
The girls still look,
Some smile
A few even work up the courage
To say something stupidly cute,
But they mostly ain't coming around.
Last one who laid down here,
A late-twenty-something, was ten months ago;
'You won't face reality,' a friend,
Who has somehow seemingly transitioned
From younger girls to older women, says:
He's dead wrong.
I'm facing it right now in this poem,
I just ain't sleeping with the bitch.

- Dennis Wilken

(06.29.08)