The world is full of alpha males
And I am very beta,
Or gamma.. or even upsilon

So I became a poet, where
Aggressiveness was not
A prerequisite

I am not a conquerer; I
am a helper, at best, and
A layabout, at worst

I am an accompanist
Not a soloist; I
Play rhythm,
Not lead

I sometimes
Wish I could
Conform to
Type

But
don’t
we
all?

We all wear out;
We all wear down –
We some wear sorrows out to see —

Like all who live
To certain age,
I am not what I used to be.

And then again,
I am, I guess.
The sole, the laces, still intact —

So just because
Our journeys change
Does not mean they weren’t worth the walk,

In fact

A gray, monotonous street

On a long and tedious day

Where your best friend used to live,

But, which now has a long detour

That takes you practically back to your own house,

Where you remember you forgot to TiVo X-Files,

And you see, instead, your neighbors’ daughter,

And her friend,

Both wearing pink roller skates, and you think

You had a purple pair once – maybe you still do?

And by the time you get back to the street,

You remember you forgot to buy shampoo, too —

That’s basically me

I’m easily embarrassed.
I tend to blush a lot;
Except, I’m fifty-three,
I should have gotten over this —

I do not like attention,
And I would rather not
Be placed in situations full
Of my self-consciousness

I’m awkward and ungainly,
My hands are way too large;
If still an adolescent, this
Would make a lot more sense —

But I’m passed middle age, it’s just
Ridiculous by now:
That others mere proximity
Can make me so damned
Tense