Olding.
Shorts and tshirts like I was still seventeenBut somehow they don’t sit the sameAs though my shape has changedLike an old man who creeps along Optician says cataracts are growingScreens blurred and road signs tauntingWhite hair reflects the sun betterThan my black hair did then. I still dream like seventeenRemembering the places that still existIn memory and daydreamsBut adventure has receded like my hairline