How well I remember those days
when every young lady was a flower
waiting to be plucked.
My Adonis-like muscles, once shaped
by military calisthenics that required 25
push-ups and pull-ups before I could enter
the mess hall.
As a summertime lifeguard, I charmed
all the bikini-clad ladies when I heroically
rescued swimmers caught in the undertow.
And, oh, those passionate nights of love-making
that never seemed to end with those lascivious
young girlfriends.
Now the women in my life
only want to talk up a storm
about their kids and grandkids,
book clubs, politics and favorite recipes.
Most of my pals are sleeping underground,
and those that are awake no longer know
what day of the week it might be.
I would have no regrets if I could refresh atrophied muscles
clinging to my creaking bones like my 92- year-old friend
who rides a tricycle to a gym every day and works out
with a physical trainer.