I had another Hallmark moment, as I begin to write my own get-well cards. I will have to file it in the “Of Questionable Bad Taste” in my notebook. This one just took a few minutes to write after sitting in a file for many years. It simply needed a little inspiration, as I begin to plan for surgery. 

Same Old Fart

“Get off my lawn,”

Just playing the part.

After passing seventy,

I’m now an old fart.

Don’t need a new hip,

Or even two knees.

But need a new heart,

Despite no disease.

I’ve skipped the small stuff,

Gone right to the top.

Jumped right into surgery,

Without even a hop.

They’ll make me bionic,

With some pig parts.

I’ll be like those heartless,

Grumpy Old Farts.

Then, they’ll work on my eyes,

To help me better see.

And tweak my prostrate,

So I can freely pee.

With all these changes,

I’ll still be me.

But a whole lot poorer,

After doctor fees. 

They will poke and prod,

Make me pee in a cup.

Cut and paste,

Then stitch me up.

I’ll have to stop running,

Lifting heavy things.

Maybe the painkillers,

Will give me wings?

Recovery will be brutal,

As I show off my scars.

But better than the alternative,

So thanking my lucky stars.

Will this make me,

An even older fart?

Or will it give me,

A fresh youthful start?

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