I've been slack again this week. Today's poem is over 15 years old and only marginally fits the Poetry Thursday prompt, which was to write a poem around a phrase that we use frequently in daily life. My poem is about a daily routine, but not a common phrase.
The usual disclaimer for old poetry applies: This was written when I was young and dumb. I suppressed the urge to rework it. Feel free to tell me what wrong with it.
Ode to the Young Professional Male
O What a glorious sight you are!
Streaming down the highway
In your Volvo, Volkswagen, or Audi,
Feeling at one with the barely harnessed
Power of your sleek German automobile
As you expertly swing your trusty steed
Into the arena of your daily battle.
O How splendid you look!
Wearing the armor of the Young Professional Male:
Your hair flawlessly groomed with not a strand
Touching the collar of your impeccably starched
White cotton shirt;
Your trendy-yet-retro tie done
In a crisply executed Windsor knit
And anchored by a tie tac decorated
With the company logo;
And your perfectly tailored suit
Which cannot disguise
The emphasis you place on physical fitness.
O How rakish you are!
Appearing to be nonchalant
As you lean against the filing cabinets
And casually run your fingers
Through your burnished golden locks
Yet knowing all the while
That the young office temporaries
Are giggling behind their terminals
And blowing furtive kisses
In your direction.
Yet, at the end of the day,
My Great White-Collar Warrior,
When all the paperwork has been shuffled
And shuffled again,
And you emerge victorious
If only because you survived,
Who takes your head with its gently curling locks
And cushions it against her ample bosom
And asks, "How was your day?"
Who has dinner waiting when you get home,
And who scrubs your back as you unwind
In a hot aromatic tub?
O What I would have given
To be the one!
Had I been younger,
But I am not;
So I watch you from afar
And wish you well.
--Dani Sanders, 12 October 1990