Septuagenarian Serenade

Septuagenarian Serenade By Sy Roth It wants to warble a fine tune It wants to fill the night with a pleasing glissando Rising and sliding into joyful jig Instead, the brittle vocal chords are ill-defined wolves Howling at a laughing moon, a dismal lunarscape Ripe with lingering pains engraved in time A dusty bin filled with some dismal memories Working hard to shake out the motes that were in their eyes Tearful threnody of movement closer to the door. It wants so desperately to dance that two-step A pas de deux of clever invention But the hip sings a screechy declaration Voids the temptress to ignore the mirrors That auger the realities of time Begs for the release of the agents of calamity Where upturned carpets, lost spectacles Dings on the fenders of vehicles long past And missed names and familiar faces fade. The song will have to remain in the head Whirling from broken synapse to broken synapse And the eyes will have to tell them the story of desire.