I walk into the department store,
plan to pay a bill, order a griddle for the new stove,
see a bald headed 30 something with a big, brown beard.
He is not what I get.
A younger man walks up, “Can I help you?”
Explaining what I want, I look.
Caramel skin, five inches taller than I,
obsidian ringlets falling, not long,
cut short to a form a big ball, a glossy poof.
He’s not too thin, not too chubby.
Straight nose, not too long, not too short.
Arched eyebrows, oval face.
He’s drool worthy.
It’s ridiculous. I’m old enough to be his grandmother,
Do we ever get too old to look, to appreciate?