At 50 by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue

my gums are receding,
but on the good side –
I’ve finally gotten a superpower,

Well, at least to young attractive women,
I’m invisible.

They stare past me as if I were transparent
and sometimes they even walk
right through me. Really.

I ought to remind them of physics,
but that’d be yet another boring suggestion
that would elicit nothing but a yawn.

And to top it off, the soles of my feet are dry
as the proverbial Mojave.
On a good night I remember to dab

a puddle of lotion
specially made for scaly skin.
All my old flames would confirm my inner snakiness.

What was inside has been made manifest.
And while not too soon,
I hope to slither into that dappled hole

destiny insists awaits all cold-blooded creatures,
tonight I live like I’ve world enough & time.
Catching a film noir flick with my one true love,

basking in front of those blue flames
of that sacred object,
formerly known as the idiot box.

Is there something wrong with me
that off the top of my head,
I can think of dozens of worse places
but not one better?