OLD MAN WILD
Old man has wild, white bed hair
wisping around eyes and ears.
Scraggly gray beard can’t cover
grim lips pressed into scowl mode.
Skinny legs swim in pant legs,
and his stooped manner of walk
all remind me of an ostrich sneaking
toward me to snatch a treat
of which I am unmindful.
Yet I must be mindful
since he enters my radar;
I watch his intentions
ready to sound the alarm.
After all, ostriches can run
30 miles per hour,
and I’d rather see
the old man’s backside
speeding away from me
than his determined face
flashing toward me.