Terry Reeves Poet Prose

The Old-Age Home

It wasn't in India, it wasn't even here,
rather, where you wanted it to be my dear,
I don't like the food and all the old fogeys,
they all just sit there picking their bogeys.

We tell stories: some chap worked for Unilevers,
was he selling Mars bars in Africa - would you believe us?
I was there - they ask me: 'Why did you return?'
I'll tell you: 'Before my balls started to burn.'

Before I was hacked like Captain Cook in the South Seas,
my time was over when I was the 'bee's knees,'
however, I miss the wide open spaces when heart races,
due to sky and horizon with great interfaces.

Now I'd like the time back when I saw a cheetah in my path,
If they asked me: 'Did it hurt?' 'Only when I laugh.'

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