So why this name? It makes no sense
that “men” are in this clause,
or maybe women at that time
I’m feeling wide awake,
yet drop-dead tired at the same time;
of what I had to do?
I try hard to remember but
the wires I know are frayed
and faulty, and connection’s poor:
a flush that heats me through;
I’m burning up, as if on fire
My confidence has fled
as if all that I once possessed
that thing, that one, that errrr;
my former mind has clouded to
My son points in despair.
I’ve lost my keys the seventh time,
but battles on and on;
my waist has disappeared, it’s thick,
the flood gates open wide
and tears cascade across my cheeks
to simmer down the fire,
to level out the bumpy path
this isn’t a fast ride:
the men’o’pause can last for years –
The truth is far from that.
“Time of your life?” I don’t think so:
the men-o-pause? Like hell!
The poor guys have to live with us…
and dye their hair from grey
and splash out on ripped jeans and wear
was “noise” and not much else,
but feel they have to grab their chance
the bald is hard to hide
before their paunch can’t be constrained
must give in to their age
and sit and read the papers with
know what you’ve got to do?
Drive off in his sports car to raves
Cause that will get you through…
© Nicky Clifford 2016