Bob's Chair On Loan

I sat in your chair tonight.
Looking through your aged eyes.
What I saw were the sights
you write about.

The young girls who want to be women
..taken seriously.
Wearing skimpy tops
trying to lure warm druken bodies.
Instead someone should at least
give them a jersey
and a glass of milk.

Racous laughter dulls
the sound of attempted
smooth pick-up lines.
Jeans so tight every bulge
hangs out...
an advertisement for those
which drink has claimed morals.

And here I am,
watcher of the young,the hungry.
Sipping Jack and lime on the rocks.
Asking myself "Where the hell I went wrong"?

Bleached blonde conquests
just waiting for a text.
The music blaring louder than the
screams in the parking lot.
Screams of pleasure?
If you call a parking lot fuck a pleasure.

I light another cigarette
shake my head.
Watching more hopefuls walk in.
Is this truly the world in which we thrive?
Where the hell did we go wrong?

Me in my white dress
with red heels on.
An angel with a polluted mind?
No...not quite yet.
Unapproached,perhaps because
I'm sitting in your chair.
They see the wisdom in my eyes.
Perhaps because I would challenge them.
Perhaps because I am not drunk
enough to bare my body for
their eager hands.

Thanks Bob for letting
me sit in your chair for a while.
I feel strangely older
than I did before.
Surely a lesson well learnt.