We can’t do anything about gettin’ older,

so let’s have some fun with it.

I’ll admit I’m gettin’ older,

my bald spot’s rimmed with white,

My rotator cuff don’t rotate,

my hearin’ ain’t quite right.

My meniscus has plumb worn away,

my back is stiff and sore,

My hips don’t swivel like they should,

and when I sleep I snore.

Now, I can’t lift my saddle,

angina causes pain,

My ropes have all developed holes,

that rotator cuff’s to blame.

Last time I tried to tail a cow

I wound up on my butt

With all these things that’s goin’ on

I feel I’m in a rut.

My hairy legs support ten pounds

of extra fat and flab

And the bottled pills upon my shelf

look like a doctor’s lab.

My ears keep gettin’ bigger,

my feet are growin’ too,

It don’t make me hear no better,

just wear a bigger shoe.

My eyesight’s gettin’ dimmer,

my reflex almost nil,

My sense of smell has gone away,

can’t fix it with a pill.

My pacemaker needs rechargin’,

too much acid in my gall,

My metal knee joint just won’t bend,

can’t touch my toes at all.

I have trouble with my breathin’,

blood sugar gets way low,

Then up goes the ol’ blood pressure

for reasons I don’t know.

But with these perks of my old age

that keep me from all wrong

And with the aid of my stout cane

I strive to get along.

 But there’s one thing keeps me goin’,

and it’s my only binge,

It’s the thing that I enjoy the most,

makes all my neighbors cringe.

The thing that makes me happy?

(I’m grinnin’ to beat the band),

It's that current driver’s license

in my arthritic hand.

©06-07-14 Slim McNaught