Ravages of time

I’m at an age that Shakespeare missed out . . .


Now, where shall I begin? Ah, yes – this wrinkling of the skin:
It wasn’t half as bad a year ago.
Though I’ve rubbed in creams and potions, slapped on liniments and lotions,
It’s more fragile now, and cracks begin to show.

There’s a problem, too, with memory. Rather like a sheet of emery,
It’s worn down and it’s now well past its prime.
But I haven’t lost my touch, and I’ve not forgotten much –
Just where I’m going, and why, from time to time.

It was more or less all right when small changes in my sight
Could be overcome by squinting both my eyes;
So having to wear glasses to see the board in evening classes
Came as an unsettling surprise.

I’ve been told I should beware slight receding of the hair
And its colour change from black to shades of grey.
(As you lose it from your head, it begins to sprout instead
From ears and nose – well, that’s what people say.)

I cannot understand why prostate glands expand
And obstruct the path of easy urine flow.
“It’s hyperplasic but benign,” says the doctor. “You’ll be fine.
But come back if you find you just can’t go.”

I’m not exactly thick, it’s just my brain is not so quick;
It’s getting worse at thinking in a hurry.
Names to faces I can do: it may take an hour or two,
But I’ll work out who you are, don’t you worry.

I still enjoy a walk, although I creak. And, when I talk,
My patched-up molars give the game away:
A youth mis-spent with sweets and lots of other sticky treats
Has left them in a state of grim decay.

But enough of all this groaning and sad, introspective moaning –
Time to rise above this dismal cavalcade!
Though my eyes are getting dimmer, I’m not ready for a Zimmer!
(Do you know where I can get a hearing aid?)

[Photo: foter.com]
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