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While visiting my mother at the old age home this week, I got to thinking how will I handle my senior days in the future.  Unfortunately this future is not as far away as it once was as I kick and scream all the way to retirement.  What will I do?  What will I say?  I am still not sure what I will do, but I now know what I will say.

 

A Senior Moment

As I stare out the window, it’s occurring to me,

As every day passes, it gets harder to see.

 

So I put on my glasses, and things become clear,

Times moving faster, every day every year.

 

I’m not getting better, I’m just getting old,

I look pretty good for my age I am told.

 

Nobody warns you, when youth disappears,

There’s a trip to the bathroom, after every two beers.

 

When is the moment where we finally admit?

After walking too long, we all need to sit.

 

Our bones and our muscles, betray us each day,

The creaking and throbbing just won’t go away.

 

I’m not complaining, that’s what old people do,

Cause I know I’m not old, but I know I’m not new.

 

Everyone moves through each well-defined stage,

Teenage to young adult and then middle age.

 

But the senior phase is the hardest to tell,

As each starts emitting that old people smell.

 

The question is when does this start to occur?

Is it when the young people call you madam or sir?

 

As our life expectancy starts to expand,

Your hair disappears, a new crease on your hand.

 

Botox and surgery slow down the pace,

Old tired bodies with a beautiful face.

 

It’s a popular way you can fool yourself,

Though you now need a ladder to reach the top shelf.

 

Your no longer parents, your grandparents now,

When you need hi tech help, the children know how.

 

To reward my endurance, I would welcome some praise,

Though most of my friends call me cranky these days.

 

I must get a picture of Dorian Gray!

As that would push all my worries away.

 

I could stay young, while the painting gets old.

Thanks Oscar Wilde, Now where’s this art sold?

 

But that’s only fiction, and he ends up a jerk,

And living forever sounds like way too much work.

 

So what‘s one to do, when it’s time to retire?

Fighting old age is a an uncontrolled fire.

 

The biggest extinguisher can’t put it out.

Each burning tree was once a wee sprout.

 

My wit once was sharp, and so was my tongue,

Yes this dear old soul, used to be very young.

 

If nature accepts this, then why can’t we do it?

Our egos ignore things though we all kind of knew it.

 

All older people tell the stories of their youth,

Peppered with lies and occasional truth.

 

As Rewriting history is part of the fun,

To share all the wonderful things that we’ve done.

 

We no longer care about what people think,

We seem to get wiser, the more that we drink.

 

We try to convince ourselves everything’s fine,

Though most of us now go to bed before nine.

 

When I was a keeper I just did as I please,

Today I’m just managing RRSPs.

 

Proudly our children have lives of their own,

I wish them the best but I wish they would phone.

 

Cause this getting older is not what it seems,

Forgetting your password, forgetting your dreams.

 

Sadly no senior knows how each life ends,

We’re losing our status, and we’re losing our friends.

 

So a message to those who think we are not worried,

Technology makes every thing seem too hurried.

 

If the young ones can find just a second or so,

To call an old relative, all the ones that you know.

 

And tell them it’s time that we went for a beer,

It’s been way too long, and I sure want to hear.

 

About your opinions, on current affairs,

Remove this new theory that nobody cares.

 

As that act of kindness will change everything,

We’ll ask lots of questions, you might learn a thing.

 

We will appreciate more than you know,

The gift that you gave was your time even though.

 

You have busy lives, and with so much to do,

One hour with a relic, will change them and you.

 

So as all the old people resist their old age,

We sure would allow a day out of our cage.

 

So thanks in advance for reading this poem,

We won’t make you visit when we move to the home.

 

Unless you enjoy the odd get together,

We could talk about anything, even the weather.

 

Yes this getting old, isn’t what is should be,

I could say more, but enough about me…

 

Cause I’ve said everything that I wanted to say,

Just hoping tomorrow, is a much better day.

 

Cue the Blong.  If the blog didn’t depress you, this song sure will.

 

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