The appetite which leads him to her bed
Is not unlike the lust of boys for cake
Except he knows that after he has fed
He'll suffer more than simple belly-ache.

He'll groan to think what others have to pay
As price for his obsessive need to know
That he's a champion still, though slightly grey,
And both his skill and gameness clearly show.

And after this quick non-decision bout,
As he in his dark corner gasping lies,
He'll hear derision like a distant shout
While kisses press like pennies on his eyes.
Submitted by Andrew Mayers