Developing a Conscience

Developing a conscience in old age,
I look back to a misspent youth, last year,
Running at high speed, but still in first gear,
Overextended on apprentice wage.
I seem to have become that white-haired sage
Who looks around the room and sees you here
In sable, soaking up the atmosphere,
And tells you stories about grief and rage.

I'm wearing felt pyjamas and a robe
To indicate my new delightful state;
You overdressed clowns may be tempting fate
But when I notice, in the flashing strobe,
The three bright golden earrings on each lobe,
Because I have a conscience now, I wait.