Notes About The Poem
written 31 Dec 2021
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…)
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