The worst thing about getting old,
Is getting old.
Everything hurts in the morning.
Ibuprofen, acetaminophine, aspirin,
Nothing seems to help.
Ben Gay, sounds like a guy I know,
Aspercreme, Theragesic, vocanic oil,
Nothing keeps those old bones from hurting.
And then your hearing goes,
Eeehhhy, what's that you say sonny?
And you can't see worth a damn.
Except when some young chick walks by.
Then cataracts, glaucoma, and myopia,
Can't keep you from seeing.
But that's besides the point.
But by far, the worst I would say,
Are your arthritic legs.
Everybody wants to help,
They all give you walking canes for Christmas.
But you say to your wife,
'Those damned things are for old people.'
Another problem is your prostate gland.
You run to the bathroom at 2: 00 a.m. in the morning,
Squeeze out a few drops,
And go back to bed.
Then at 4: 34 a.m. you are back again,
Don't forget the shake,
Maybe that will dislodge some more,
Unwilling drops.
Do you remember when you could blast,
Paint off the side of a building?
When I have a good pee,
I feel like throwing a party.
But seriously, it's not so bad,
Once you get past the brittle bones,
The high blood pressure and all the other,
Everyday joys of getting old.
(7/26/11-Alton Texas)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem