Scrapheap Poem by Tony Jennett

They don't throw you on the scrapheap with a jeer, a leer, a scoff.
You realise you're on it when they try to help you off.
They think you are disabled when your joints start getting creaky
And you know they just assume that your old bladder's getting leaky.

And they think, though God forbid to say, your mind is going too
When you forget their birthdays - as you always used to do!
When they see your body trembling they put it down to age
And never stop to question if you might be in a rage.

They think that life is going on and leaving you behind
But you've seen it all before they were and, being rather kind,
You forget to mention that their steps are leading to a tumble
That long ago you suffered. That's what makes you meek and humble.

I wish sometimes that this old world could see me as I am
I'm so layed-back I'm prostrate and don't give a tinker's damn
Why take offence and bluster and domineer imperiously?
I'd look a proper wezzok if nobody took me seriously.

But that has its compensations, so it makes a lot of sense
To flirt with pretty, teenage girls and never give offence
They think you're old and harmless underneath your mane of grey
And you are! But what a pity! As a dog I've had my day.

Still my life will never lack a crust however old I grow
And my marbles still keep clacking underneath my mane of snow
Therefore I've no cause to grumble - my life is pretty good,
But can't you see, for pity's sake, my eyes are crying blood?