The Seven Ages of Modern Man

I can't match Shakespeare, but I'm trying.

See him first with biscuit cheeks, green peppercorned eyes,
Round rolled arms cascading into fingers,
Face and hair gender-neutral,
Therefore all around him must be blueblueblue,
Lips barely parted and hair spidering over scalp,
Suddenly turning to a bubbling shriek,
So he must be plugged with white powder in water; then he is still.

Next a crop-haired bear cub,
Naked brown knees pebbled with red and black,
Freckles, soccer shorts, baseball cleats,
Play-the-national-game-and-be-like-dad,
Bicycle rimming sidewalks,
Ankles dragging through backyard grass,
Then inside, toss over, sleep.

Heavy cheeks channel into long chin,
Falling eyelids, dimpling the sofa to watch TV,
Eyes beneath hair curtain turn as blank as the screen,
While mother’s jaw draws in with worry,
Wondering why he does not move, does not care.
He-has-potential-but-doesn’t-live-up-to-it,
Put-your-mind-to-something, do your schoolwork.

As a boy away from home, turn Greek,
Suddenly gain several brothers, attend dances,
Play at least five sports, study sometimes too,
Keep head high, cut hair short again till color is invisible,
Polo shirts, khaki shorts, shave face to save face,
Appear on postcard sent to high school juniors
With people sprawled on lawns, laughing while they read textbooks.

Then a young man, degree under his arm,
Crumbs of stubble rimming lip as he paces sidewalk,
A job, boring, computers, but a job.
Then, some girl, go to ballpark, kiss on the big screen,
Movies, make out, memorize her body, sexsexsex,
Fall out one night over what no one remembers, call her next morning,
Rings exchange, go to beach, sex, buy house, sex.

Older, glasses, work, come home, TV,
Food from wife with hair dyed until it shines
Like it never did when she was young.
Sex, tired, fingers pinch temples, anniversaries,
No-more-ballgames-honey-they-hurt-my-head,
So restaurants, no kids, no kids, still use protection,
A shell, no more feeling in the mixture.

Last, a man with face caved into itself,
Silver cap of hair, eyes dull behind glasses,
In white blank room, nothing but TV ballgames;
Man beside him opens cards from his grandchildren.
Exhalations louder than breaths coming in,
Cigarette twitching up and down, awaiting
What?  An end?  Something on other side of blurring wall?

Author's Note

I know that this needs work, but what kind of work? And do you find the ending effective?