DECREPITUDE

 DECREPITUDE

Tsk, tsk, you're a fall risk,

So hang your head down low;

Try to hold onto the railings,

Steady as you go.

Your legs like painful candlesticks,

Burnt down to their precious wicks.

Use the walker to keep steady,

Have a wheelchair at the ready.

Lest you fall and cause an awful wound,

Blood spurting from your head,

Better yet to hedge your bets

And hibernate in bed.

Oh drat, it should be old hat,

The rigidity and the limp,

22 years with this disease,

Your life has kindly spent.

Old age may have its pulchritude,

Its lessons for the soul, 

But allow me a bit of latitude.

While I adjust my attitude,

To one that shows more gratitude,

For the years have taken toll.

Tsk, tsk,

Is that your breakfast,

That's fallen in your lap.

Your arms wooden and rigid,

You fear that they could snap.

So spill at breakfast, spill at snack time,

Spill, spill, spill,

Bonus points if you spill at dinner,

It lends a certain thrill.

Time was you could charm a crowd with a gift for fiery speech,

Now you humbly mumble,

And fall into the breach.

Tsk, tsk, your walk was brisk,

But now it's slowed to just a crawl.

Medicine's now hit or miss,

Your back's against a wall.

And perhaps it's your own ineptitude,

That's fostered this decrepitude,

Who can really say?

But limp into the fading sun,

And live to fight another day.

-Bruce Potts

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