Pretty Damn Old

(The only true thing about this poem is that today is my birthday.) People are upset because it's my birthday and my age is something I haven't told. I keep my age a secret because I'm getting pretty damn old. My bones crackle and my false teeth keep falling out. When I tell people that I'm a sex machine, they have serious doubts. Is it possible that I've lost my good looks? My doctor prescribes me more pills than Elvis took. Last month I was in the hospital and I got fresh with a candy striper. I might have stood a chance with her if she wasn't the one who changed my diaper.