The Sport Too Late Poem by Raj Dronamraju

The sport too late
Sadder than a wasted childhood
An old age garbed in Tweedledum's booties

Making hay while the sun shines
Banging on doors when the sun goes down
The spots on your nose, the gin and the elements connecting the dots

Regret virus speeding up heartbeat
Rage Vikings disembarking into the surf
Coming ashore with misplaced cockiness and aggression ill fitting with the scene

Professional mourners have already worked up the right amount of wailing sadness
Toss themselves on your coffin as its being lowered
Sing your praises out of tune at the wake afterwards

The sport too late
The earring, the hair weave can't correct a tardy appreciation of a good time
Couldn't give up a single thing for a second chance

That split in time which was caught on a hidden traffic camera
You racing along - The doer of advantage can't find a single entry point
The desperation of the middle aged driver, he'll speed up the further away he gets from what he wants

Give me your bent over worrywart status
That which is not the stroking of an inbound latent immaturity
It whistles and you whistle back and the code has begun transmitting