Evolution of a Man

At six, I notice my first woman

I like her lovely painting

I hate her smarter art.

At ten I watch her

I  like her colourful trinkets

I hate her  good score cards

My ground games more interesting!

At twenty I visualize her

I like  pretty brows, the prettier skin

More in number than singular

I like that sense of owning many a pretty prize

I hate singular long lasting presence

My success ladder more precious!

The late twenties

I push pretty faces to social network sites

I begin to need one whose face holds a heart

At thirty I notice her

I like her pretty face less than I do her gray cells

I hate her shallow self

The late thirties

I am tired of anorexic , online smiles

I need a home maker, a mother

At forty  I see her

I like her substance, her cerebral links

I hate her wilt at my mid life payment crises

At fifty I see her at last anew

I see through grooves that never fit.