Old Age Is Not For Weaklings Poem by David McLansky

I no longer feel the urge to talk, ....

I sit thee glumly, glare and gawk, ....

I launch myself up from my chair....

With all the grace of Fred Astaire, ....

When he was drunk and blind on booze....

I slip and shudder in soft shoes....

Steadied by flat counter-tops....

I use my hands to grab and stop.....

I am too proud to use ''my' walker, ....

It makes me feel like I'm a stalker, ....

Trudging high on tippy-toes, ....

Tap toe dancing as I go.....

....

Thus I labor in decline....

Daily losing what was mine, ....

An awkward man upon a stick....

Moving slowly, ... sudden, … sick.....

....

It ain't no fun growing old, ....

You're sweating hot and then your cold, ....

Old movies still retain their charm....

With Ginger Rogers on your arm.....

....