How oft the hero who smiles and nods
in youth, who lets young beauties stroke his pecs
and roars and shakes the blades and rods
at unpopular rogues and twists their necks
will, with age, retire from the honor squads
and replace the fight with strut and flex
and share table with these same fustilarian bellygods.

[Note: Written in response to a prompt on Walter Jon Williams'
blog. Selected for a prize.]