In the good, golden days, I used to rely
On my wit and my masculine charm.
As the day dwindled down, a girl catching my eye
Would ere long be under my arm.
I would ply her with liquor, coax her with cake
Beg and cajole and caress
And when it was time for the deed to be done
I would coax her right out of her dress.

In the interim something has happened to change
That brash gleam in my eye to a squint
No longer the lassies swim into range.
More often these days, away they do sprint.
Where an evening of promise used to consist
Of kisses and fondles and sighs
Lately exhaustion is hard to resist
And I need a quick nap before cuddling up to the prize.

Moreover, the prize is no longer the end.
It’s no longer my aim to be wenched.
I prefer, these days, to graciously spend
My spare time alone and unclenched.
I find that the energy spent in the chase
Is a waste in pursuit of the fluff.
I spend quiet evenings alone at my place
And I’ve learned that the nap is enough.