I refer back to Post #1905 that somehow triggered this first poem of 2022. It’s not exactly inspirational nor an accurate reflection of my personal ailments, but portrays the challenges of growing old:

Not Easy Being Me

It’s not easy,
To be old like me.
In a few years,
You too will see.

I’m battery powered,
With hearing aids.
Where did I put those,
Blue-blocker shades?

Need shoes that tie,
And support hose.
Because too often,
Can’t feel my toes.

My arches have fallen,
And can’t get up.
And I drink my wine,
From a Sippy Cup.

What hair is left,
Has long turned gray.
Social Security,
My only pay.

My heart’s still beating,
But my breath is foul.
I’m about ready,
To throw in the towel.

A Chiropractor visit,
My big day out.
This darn foot,
Has a touch of gout.

Lines and creases,
Mark my face.
I buy Advil,
By the case.

A scratchy voice,
Makes me hard to hear.
Losing my balance,
A constant fear.

Muscles that sag,
And wrinkled skin.
A beer gut,
And a double chin.

Glasses are a given,
Cataracts a curse.
Not quite ready,
For a full-time nurse.

A heating pad,
Keeps me warm.
Sore joints,
A nagging norm.

Right and left knees,
Are always stiff.
But the wee-knee,
Is a big IF!

What used to flow,
Now just trickles.
My pot of gold,
Nothing but nickels.

I’m like a Mummy,
In braces and wraps.
And in constant need,
Of extra naps.

If I’m a Grump,
This explains why.
But I’m not ready,
To say Good-Bye.

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