Getting Old? Me?

Getting Old? Me?

I surely must be in my prime. Two kneecaps, a hip replacement and three pairs of new teeth – just fine. I’ve rubbed shoulders with cancer and diabetic eyes and feet.
I’m deaf – can’t hear a thing quieter than next door television. And only when it’s blasting out, to annoy the neighbours, on the other side. Pity they don’t watch Coronation St and Dragon’s Den.
I suppose I can’t have everything; even If I’m (whisper) getting past my sell by date.
Some days it’s hard to think. I’m high on prescription medication most of the time. (40 multi- coloured different kinds) that make me dizzy, fart, and subject to daft poetic rhyme at the oddest time.

I’m in that ‘I wonder’ stage of my life. I wonder where I left my teeth. I wonder do I need to pee. Or has somebody spilt something on me?
Poor circulation, varicose veins run rainbow colours on my thighs and face.
Bouts of depression – all my girlfriends have gone to heaven

But ah – Thank God, my sense of humour is still strong.
They tell me I’ll keep it ‘til the dementia gone.
At least I think that’s what she said. I was too busy enjoying the softness of her breasts as she shouted in my ear.
Some benefits in being deaf, you see, for an old codger like me.
The medication is wearing thin. It’s past the rhymes bed time. So I’ll say goodnight and contemplate the next part of me that needs replaced.