Rose Coloured
Glasses.
The truth as I grow older
The eyesight fades and fades
Smoothing out the wrinkles
As I wade through more decades.
The sagging is headed south.
Though I can’t tell
As I wear rose-coloured glasses
Otherwise, I’d look like hell.
Young people look the other way.
Dogs often cross the road.
To give us old folk a wide berth
As we melt and then erode.
If you love a sexagenarian
I don’t think there’ll, be better sex
More like running to the cupboard
For Viagra or another Bex.
But before I hang my head.
And other parts as well.
There’s an answer to my problems.
Some crafty people want to sell.
They’re called digitally enhanced glasses.
They look chic and sophisticated.
And give spark to a romance.
Which otherwise has dissipated.
So, if you’ve given up all hope
And scream when looking in the mirror
Buy a new pair of these super specs
They don’t make your eyesight clearer.
So, throw away the razor blades.
And gird those sagging loins.
And have a digitally enhanced romance.
When one and two enjoins.
©
David Rudder
2024
Thank you for reading this piece and my poetry.
