For My Age Poem by Stan Petrovich

Now that my leaves, my hair,
Have all fallen down, I stand apart;
'Where it's at' turns my despair
Into a whimper; 'Where is it, ' I empart.
All the loves of my life,
The young giddy girls, the middle girls,
The women trailing strife
All whirlpool together in a foaming mass.
Everywhere I have touched has turned into whorls.

Becoming forgetful and siddled
With Asperger or something akin,
The stars are unriddled,
And I don't even brook the sins
Of a criminal father
And a mother who flew to the grave;
I should perhaps bother
To rant and to rave;
But rather stay hidden
From storms in my cave.

I have reverted to a cavedwelling ape
And plead with nature
To turn, turn away
Ans somewhere else gape.