Lordy, Lordy, I

from These Denver Odes

Lordy, Lordy, I can't believe I heard
   you dredge up that old line last night.
     So, did it work?  Never mind.
I'd hate to hear an almost matron,
   almost popping her bustier, bit
     that chestnut.  Time flies, my ass.

When Quintus said it, I don't know, maybe
   it already had a Bronze Age
     sheen to it, Buck.  Antique rose
petals fell for Herrick to gather,
   and the cartwheels creaked Marvell heard.
     And this mother of three swooned?

Well, we can understand, old thing--the flat,
   bubbleless glass of warm champers,
     and the wilting gray canape,
and the laddered hose.  Women despair
   for less, have fallen far further
     than you, Buck, on a bad night.

And maybe you were right, Quintus no fool,
   and the lady's sensors wide
     and wise to pull in the last
cupidous excitement she'd ever
   glom on to, even in the arms
     of an old anthology.