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.
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