Autumn Blooms & Foolish Old Boys

© by 𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖆

Dear Auntie Autumn Blooms, with folded hands,
Us Foolish Old Boys, some from faraway lands.
(See? Still learning. Please don’t flee!)
We swear we’re better.* Not scary! See?

Fifty years ago? Whoops, oh mercy me!
We were walking red flags, footloose, fancy free.
Rude, crude, socially feral at best,
Swagger vastly exceeded our IQ, EQ of a pest.

Summer Blossoms had us bedazzled, we unraveled, undone.
Brains went offline, any manners on the run.
We flexed. We joked. We hyped. We overplayed.
We probably said things that should’ve stayed unsaid.

For the last few decades, more precisely, last five.

Mothers, daughters, sisters and wives.

Patiently reworking lumps of clay since they arrived,

Enriching our otherwise very misshapen lives.

Time has been very educational, oh how, ladies dear
We're still learning, though, a little worse for the wear.
When burping we do* say “Sorry” and “Oops,”
We sometimes... argue pointlessly in WhatsCrapp groups.

So please please please (we’ll say it thrice),
Come and play, dear Autumn Blooms, we'll be nice.
Guide us, chide us when we say dumb stuff,
Which, full disclosure, still happens enough...

We bring humility, even snacks, and lawn-chairs,
Good lighting, patience, humor and fewer stares.
No flirting (okay, maybe an occasional glance),
But strictly respectful, low-risk, lots of bromance.

Forgive the Foolish Boys that we used to be, 
The loudmouth fools, with their audacity.
Join the Foolish Old Boys who’ve finally learned*

That wisdom’s earned when bridges were burned.

With somewhat aching backs but very hopeful grins,
We ask once more (deep breath, chins in):
Autumn Blooms, please please come out and play, 
The Foolish Old Boys are house-trained*… today.

(* ...mostly)