I’m getting to that age
my knees click when I walk,
my back aches after a lie-in,
my eye-sight is getting worse,
I have to squint and concentrate
when the bus approaches
to make sure I get the right one,
my throat and my stomach issues make
dining out a mine-field or
like a game of chess,
my next move plotted with care,
like a beat-up car with weird creaks
and patches of rust,
and not as fast as it used to be,
where doctors are finding things,
nothing to worry about they insist,
but then in the most unromantic way,
they say they’d like to see me again.