Pleasure

What is this life if other folk, dictate where we can drink or smoke. No ashtrays now in bars are seen, nor happy drunks on village green. The 'health police' now make all the rules, they treat the rest of us as fools. 'You can't drink this', 'Oh dont eat that', 'too high in salt' or 'too much fat'. They curb your pleasure, stop your fun, 'eat more greens', 'avoid the sun'. We used to love crisp chips and pies, 'no, no' they cry, 'more exercise'. But just you wait, the day will dawn, when in their care homes, sad, withdrawn; They might reflect on pleasures spurned, and of the bridges that they burned. With triple chins and swollen knee, in voices weak and quavery, they'll try to make their carer see, how great life is at ninety three.