Often, down at the paddle tennis courts,
The players, not the game, extort all sense.
Women cavort with jiggling breasts, tight shorts—
Regardless of their skill, we yearn, mute, tense.
So it was Thursday last. I watched a game
Featuring Andrea and three trim males.
Her gaudy hair blossomed—long, loose, untamed,
Her well-toned body not the least bit frail.
This year, no doubt, her grandchild will be born,
Though time has been most generous to her.
I note the shape her spandex pants adorn
And mourn my lost libido—yet still stirred.
Plush hemispheres! And, though I know it’s crass,
I, stunned, admire Andrea’s darling ass.
(1/30/12)