There are more than one way to lament aging. One of them, the one embodied by this poem, is to adopt the attitude that all change amounts to the world going to hell in a handbasket, and to wish that the world would stay exactly the way it was when we were younger. Another, alien to this poem, is to lament that we are perhaps too old and set in our ways to embrace the new with the enthusiasm of the young. I share Marybeth's bias against the former, and I have a general distaste for light verse written by and for old fogeys. This poem might have been improved, I think, if it betrayed a more explicit awareness of its "real" subject, but I agree with Maryann that it does so more than might appear at first blush, and, of course, it is written with great skill and humor.
It is already a bit dated, though, since Casual Friday has given way to casual everyday in many offices. In my life, by the way, this trend has been a source of great joy and satisfaction. I absolutely cannot stand wearing a suit or tie.
|