On Top Of Old Smokey

On top of Old Smokey 
All covered with snow, 
I lost my true lover 
For a-courting too slow.

It is Friday afternoon and
I am hard at work in my
Two sizes too small
Cubicle
Day dreaming
About the upcoming
Weekend

I took yesterday off
As a personal leave day
Because I was
Just too bone tired to
Drag my ass
Out of bed
On a wet and cold
Rainy December morning
The spirit was willing but
The flesh wanted desperately
To grab just
A few more hours
Of stolen sleep

At this stage of the game
If I am not now
Entitled to even
A tiny bit of self indulgence
Then when?

Rolling over to find
The sweet side
Of my pillow
I granted myself
My ever so
Self indulgent wish

After all I am due
To retire from work
In about a year’s
Time from now
And ain’t I a man?

Truth be told
I am completely
At a loss as to how
I am going to live
Post retirement
When every day will be a
Personal leave day
That is
If I should actually
Be so lucky
As to live long enough
To be able to actually retire

I have had
Three close friends
And coworkers of mine
Who all passed away
During the previous year
None of whom were retired

It is a sobering thought
To think
That life can be
So very fleeting
And short
And brutal

This coming Monday
I have a routine
Doctor’s appointment
To monitor my type 2 diabetes
And my too high blood pressure
And my  too high cholesterol

I expect to hear the usual
Admonitions from
My overly zealous
(to my way of thinking)
MD
As he chews me out
For not taking better
Care of myself
(I suppose I should be
More grateful)

I will nod and smile
As he chatters on
Whilst writing
His cryptic notes
Into my medical chart
As he writes out the
Prescription renewals
For all of my hitherto
Enumerated ailments

He will take my blood pressure
While clucking his tongue and
Shaking his head in disapproval
And  he will tell me
To be more diligent
In monitoring my
A1C count
And he will make referrals for
For this expert and that
Just to be on the safe side
Or to see if there is
Cause for more concern
Or not
I will thank him
Whether I intend to
Following his suggestions
Or not

I acknowledge that I am
A difficult patient
(as all my doctors tell me)
But I am doing
The best that I can
Under the circumstances

I dislike not being fully fit
I dislike being overweight
(The medical term is morbidly obese!)
I dislike having to stick
Pins into my finger tips every day
In order to
Draw a few
Drops of blood
To measure my
Levels of glucose

And so I rebel
From time to time
And if that makes me into
A difficult patient
I heartily concur!

After all it is
My fingers that feel
Like pin cushions
Not theirs!
And if I am reluctant
To keep sticking them
For more blood samples
In order to get back into
Their good graces
Then so be it!

All of which
Brings us to
Last Monday when
During my usual
Home bound commute
I crossed paths with an angel
A woman of such
Startling beauty and
Statuesque bearing
That she literally
Took my breath away

As is my usual custom
My eyes drank in her profile and
Her long torso and  long legs
As my mind’s eye lovingly
Glided over the lines
Of her shapely silhouette and
The graceful flutterings
Of her hands and arms
As she pushed back her hair
And as she pursed her lips
In her hand held pocket mirror
And as she glanced back at me
As she smiled her
Madonna -like smile

Before you could say
Jackie Robinson or
Grand Central Station
I was hooked

I had fallen like the
Proverbial ton of bricks
(As I almost always
Usually do
If I fall at all)

I could feel
My desire for her
Surging through my veins
Until I could feel
My heart pounding
In my chest
And I could
Hear the blood
Sloshing in my ears
Like the wind blown surf

My heart was beating
Like the drum section
On the rolling stones
Hit tune
I’m So Hot For Her


(I’m so hot for her
I’m so hot for her
I’m so hot for her
And she’s so cold!)

I could tell that
She was aware of
My staring as
She tossed
Another
Come hither look
In my direction
As she smiled
That tight little smile
That all women
Seem to know
How to smile
From birth
(Or was it just
Wishful thinking
On my part
Or was it
Just my over active
Imagination
Running away with me
Yet once again
One more time?)

Why is it that
All women seem to
Have this amazing ability
To know when
They are being ogled by men
Yet they act
So non chalant
Appearing to be completely
Distracted by their own
Musings and thoughts
All the while
Smiling that tight little smile
That seems to say
Yes, perhaps I am available
But, on the other hand
No, perhaps not

It is enough
To drive us men wild
(And it usually does!)

I was trying
With all of my might
To summon up
Enough courage
To ask her
For her telephone digits
When the train door
Suddenly opened
And in the blink
Of an eye
She was gone

In a Philadelphia second
My goddess had become
A shadowy figure
Disappearing
Into the foggy
Moonlit night

And just as quickly
All of my heretofore
All consuming
Surge of lust had
Just as suddenly
Subsided
As rapidly
As it had at
First appeared
And I was back to normal
Which is to say
That I was
Back to being
My usual boring and
Humdrum self

And if all of that
Wasn’t discouraging enough
I also felt very
Foolish and
Embarrassed
And spent
Like the foolish old man
That I have become

A foolish old man
Who still lusts
From time to time
After all of  the
Young and beautiful
Ladies of Frankford
And Kensington
Whom I just
Happen to  have
The good fortune
To encounter nightly
During my
Homebound commute

As I catch a fleeting glance
Of my own reflection
In the pane glass of
My passenger side window
I can see that
I have become
Something of a parody of the
Dirty old man of
Laugh-in fame
Who would chase eagerly after
All of the younger girls
In his path
Whilst moving
Ever so slowly
With outstretched hands
At full stutter step
As unable to catch up
With his loping prey
As a chipmunk might be
In pursuit of a fleeing gazelle

And just what then
Would the chipmunk do
If he ever did manage
To catch-up with
The object
Of his affection?

Have I really become
All that
Laughable and
Pathetic?
(Don’t look now Batman
But I have the whim wams
All over!)

On top of Old Smokey
All covered with snow,
I lost my true lover
For a- courting too slow.

jhmarkowitz
Philadelphia, Pa. 2011