My face has more wrinkles than Johnny Unitas.
My body's war torn from osteo-arthritis.
No longer multi-orgasmic
When I get aroused it's less than fantastic
women seem colder
My life's in a folder
My skin's pock- marked brown as molass.
I'm bolder, no wiser,
with no fortune to miser
I'm much further than 50 plus tax.
In a pinch, there's little to flaunt
I get senior discounts but that's not what I want
My hair has grown thick in my ears and my toes
Phlegm flows freely from out of my nose
I snore when I wheeze
Doc, more painkillers please
That's how it is growing old
If I were younger I'd awaken with vigor, a bounce to my step
I'd wear bow ties with ribbons the number one rep.
You'd think twice before turning me away from the dance.
If I were to grow young and not old
I'd take a brisk walk
going long, I'd be stoked.
You wouldn't say hey old man,
where are you going?
I wouldn't be in an unbuttoned gown,
sporting butt cheeks of cheese I'd be showing.
Lord with your mercy take me back home
I pray to avoid the hells
whistles alarms and the bells.
and all the incessant crying and groaning
the telephone's ringing
charge nurses singing
but none of your family's showing.
world brings me on down
and feel what's the use to keep trying.
I'm grateful for walking, eating and breathing
while my friends and my family keep dying.
Still the world keeps on churning
and my stomach is turning
I still can portray the 'terminally unique'
These youth with fake smiles
trudging through road weary miles
I too often keep silent when I should speak
Now I am older and paying less taxes
Let's compound principal with interest to awaken the masses
With tap dancing moves still in my step
My time isn't over, I've still got some pep
I'm a groovy old shrew
with a surprise left or two
So consider giving me half of a chance
Though my delusions of grandeur
keep shitting their pants
I'm not quite dead yet
Nor am I ready to fold
and that's what you get growing old.
Comments about this poem (Golden Rust by Buddy Bercu )
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