Chronicling Old Age Poem by michael Smajda

Its no fun getting old
Is what I have been told.
And those who've gone through it
Would never 'gain do it.
They say they live each day
Wishing their ills away
Such as body aches and pains,
Requiring walkers and canes,
Swallowing pills galore
Until your throat is sore
And a relative, then,
With a stroke of a pen
Commits you to a bed
For your dementia head
In a retirement room
Perfumed with gloom
Where you can't move about
And your only way out
is.....
Some coroner, in the know,
Ties a name tag on your toe.