Old Men*

Old men are ascribed a nobility
Their eyes demand.
The lines on their faces
Are roadmaps of honor
Their thoughts imagined
To be ponderous.

But I am becoming an old man.
As such I want to bring clarity
To a subject given too much tribute.

Most of the time
Old men are not re-fighting old wars
Re-visiting lost loves
Or re-casting latent hopes.

Most of the time…
Hell, all the time…
Old men are just sleeping
Or wondering where
The bathroom is.

* Wink