Asa Wilde (84 years young)

Surges of warm, wild, undiluted blood
gushing through the pencil veins of tempered youth –
and suppressed within the mature tortoise skin of Asa Wilde.
These long and steamy nights
beckon the young wolves of Eastbourne,
and heave with glossy, untapped talent,
providing Asa with incentive for the challenging routine
of ten push-ups each and every morning.
Semi-toothed comb, he parts the ginger locks
of his dense toupee with a well rehearsed flick,
then proceeds to brush down the rounded jacket lapels
upon his once-fashionable, brown pin-stripe suit
with a similar coloured shoe brush, recently purchased
from a Heart Foundation outlet.
Like a young boy scout hitching up his toggle,
he straightens his multi-coloured kipper tie,
carefully concealing a prominent food stain
beneath the slightly frayed,
fair isle tank top he proudly wears.
Standing in front of the mirror by the door,
he surveys himself from head to toe
and smiles contentedly.
"Asa", he says to his reflection, "You untamed beast, you!"
And off into the night he goes.
Walking stick polished to a pin,
he stalks the nightclubs that attract masses
of abundant fodder, undeterred by the heavy yield
of recurring rejections from the sharp-tongued nymphs
who lay scorn to his efforts. For Asa knows, one day,
one fine day...