Sleek Debonair
He gawks long at his image in horror,
for there, clear in the unerring mirror,
he sees his limp, thinning and graying hair,
no longer that of a sleek debonair.
His careless, tousled look of long ago
that used to enthrall lovely women so
now only makes him look so tired, so old,
like one increasingly losing his hold.
He looks away shocked, hurt and disgusted,
just can't believe he's this spent, this wasted;
no longer the proud stallion thoroughbred
he thought he always was inside his head.
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