Pathetic

Indignities abound as one collapses toward a certain age.
"Collapse" would be the proper term, despite the ever-rising
Years, and I have fallen far and hard. My brain no longer runs
My heart. A metronome controls it now. One hip is made
Of shiny metal. Cancer fills my vessels with excessive, useless
Lymphocytes which crowd out cells which bring me air. I can't
Climb steep hills without pausing. Then, today, a galling stumble;
As I celebrated Easter with my sons, I had a beer. It showed
Up in a frosty stein, which I, pathetic, aged man, discovered
That, because my wrists are ruined, I could not raise to my
Mouth unless I used both of my hands.

 





Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 54 times
Written on 2024-04-01 at 04:31

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
it is a club no-one wants to belong to, but it seems to me your fine poem resonates something that many of us 'oldies' experience. We can't all be super physically fit. :(
Blessings, Allen
2024-04-02


Ingvar Loco Nordin The PoetBay support member heart!
Tougher than I thought...
2024-04-01


alarian The PoetBay support member heart!
very good
2024-04-01