On Rock and Roll Played by Old Men
Young and lithe, arms twined above her,
she spins to music spun by old men,
gray men, men whose visages
look never to have been young.
Her high breasts and lean thighs
betray their sagging jowls and bellies,
her dark, flying tresses mock
their thin ashen strands. And yet
she smiles with them, to them.
Her feet touch lightly across the floor,
while they, in unbroken rhythm,
low and high, pluck ripe memories.