The Pleasure Of Old Age Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The pleasure of old age
This is good morning only been up twice in the night and not
Stumbled over furniture, his wife kept filling the house with
Unwanted things. When he protest she says he lack artistic sense.
A good morning because he was able to empty his bladder
Without sounding like a cat on a hot tin roof - yes I know-

Whoever when young thought of the simple Act of evacuation?
The pleasure it is to do so without using
A suppository, the simple enjoyment of the thriving completed.
There is, especially when old, a certain sexual pleasure of
A body that functions, it can so easily go wrong, that extra
Glass of whisky, a glass of wine one should have left
Untouched on the table, with a cloth clean as a cerulean sky.

Today he would only have soup for Lunch and no red wine.
Better be on the safe and alive. But there are moments he
Thinks 'what does it matters you are dying anyway; silly man.'
God didn't give you extra time to read slimming magazines
But to be a connoisseur of Portuguese red wine, that is mild as
Spring and dreamy as a horse chewing hay in his stable when
It rains and the farmer has gone to Sunday mass.