The arrogance of youth, a badge he wore,
is faded at the age of 41;
his sculpted muscles, forged with weights, are sore,
although he claims, “I’ve only just begun.'
“Still miles to go, ” he pipes, enthusiastic
about a future stripped of old mistakes;
he used to make them daily—some were drastic—
and some still haunt him (like the morning aches):
but, all in all, he’s better than he was,
still fit, still single, rife with unctuous spirit,
a man who’d rather look ahead because
the past still stings him when he wanders near it.
He soldiers on, expelling thoughts of her
with quotes from Frost, and Karen Carpenter.
David Nelson Bradsher
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/strange-bedfellows/
