Getting Old Is Getting Old

I've grown a bit slower, I've grown a bit fatter, my mission each hour: relieving my bladder. When I was a youngster, I had no idea old coots who eat fruits will just get diarrhea. My eyesight is going - my glasses need glasses, and don't get me started on myriad gases: that flatus I thought should have stayed deep inside escaped from its chamber, despite how I tried. My hearing was great once, now I spend big money on aids, just to know why those jokes are so funny. I never had allergies back in the day - I sneeze now from looking at pictures of hay. My barber once covered his floor with brown hair - that floor now looks gray (and there's not a lot there). I thought in retirement I'd be a blob - I'm busier now than when I had a job: My schedule with doctor's appointments I fill, the outcome of each is, "here, take this new pill". Perhaps I once asked what that pain in my joint meant, so now my skin's greasy from medical ointment. Once, fully formed sentences from me were heard, I pause quite a bit now to find the right........ word. Back then, my vocab was a source of great pride, now new words or phrases I just cast aside. I need a warm blanket, my toes all feel frosted, but walking to get one just leaves me exhausted. Some good comes from fires becoming an ember - I'd say it here (if I could only remember…)