Often, down at the paddle tennis court,
We survey the morning’s display. Today,
On court four, two girls, newcomers, cavort
Clumsily, but so scantily arrayed,
That we, testosterone-bludgeoned, transfixed,
Talk fake philosophy, yet cannot hide
A somewhat baser interest (think tryst!).
Our youngest, quite unable to abide
The neurological pull of creamed flesh,
Makes a move. The women grin, check him out—
They know this game better than he—eyes meshed,
They silently agree, suspend their doubt.
“So,” the tall one says, amused by his jive,
“You’re cute enough—but what car do you drive?”
(9/18/09)