Anyone ever wonder
Why, in this modern age of victimhood
As a status symbol
Where activism’s zealotry, needs only
A cropped, phantom image
To spark, @ # reactionary incredulity
There’s no one
Picketing and protesting on motorways
demanding
Why, there isn’t a celebrated Olympics
for we
Grey haired, un-spritely
Well, that’s because aged wine
Recognises
The plight awaiting those whose
Birthdays
Insures, there’s more candles than
Cake
On their horizon’s, plate.
You see, there’s nothing
That betrays a person
Like the biological clock
They were born with
One day we’re perfectly normal
Regular like clockwork, if you will
Then
Upon a flip of a birthday, page
Our very own, spineless
Bowls n Bladders
Betray us, so comprehensively
We spend the rest of our lives
Worshipping, prison snitches!
Thus, a conscripted Olympiad
We unwillingly become
Involuntarily taking part in our
Daily
Extreme sport, barbarity
Every time we step out of our house
Necks pivot 360 degrees continuously
Incessantly, looking for directions
To that nearest, lavatory
So much so, we make Zen Buddhist’s
Out of those, ever so frantically flinching
Pigeons
While at home, we achieve so naturally
What we never could in our youth
Moonwalking, so schizophrenic innate
Legs, crossing and stuttering
On tippy toes, like a new-born giraffe
Asking our universe
What the f’ck! Like, why is it so hard
To take a step
Without all our limbs collapsing
In-sync.
So irrationally outlandish
Are our desperate actions
We resemble serenity, trapped
At that core of a hurricane twister
Everything in our way, sacrificed
Just so we can make it
To that hallowed, salvation ceramic
And, one hour later it all starts anew
Bruised toes, still erect from that last
Lifeline, toilet dash
Worst part, it’s not a plague
Afflicting us all, the same
Some, have it a lot worse
In fact, it’s all in reverse
See, they
Are forever, all clogged up
Watching-on
With outraged green eyes
At our dastardly dancing acts
They, poor souls
Are ever taking more and more
Experimental concoctions
Just to remind, their body
It needs to empty those bins
Once in a while
Trying to persuade their organs
There will be more macro nutrients
Tomorrow, promise!
Oh crap, there goes my busybody
pressure colon, trigger
Alarm bells, to my shuffling discotheque
routine
Right then, sledgehammer in-hand
just in case
Some absent minded, family member
thinks, bathroom’s
Are meant to be Shared…!
© L. B. Mek
March 2023
-
Author:
L. B. Mek (
Offline) - Published: March 27th, 2023 02:06
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
- User favorite of this poem: A Boy With Roses.
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Comments7
It's prudent to know where you can go, harder when in foreign territory though.
indeed, wisdom of the experienced
Although I live in a city, in the U.S., where the median age is 65 there is little respect for the elderly. In Brazil I have encountered more respect, where there are preferential lines and parking for those over 65. People give up their seats for the old. This too is changing here over time with too many old people for the parking spots and preferential lines as long as the normal ones. I too feel some of these infirmities as I grow older. Loved some of the unique references to age in this poem. "more candles than cake" "we make Zen Buddhist's out of those ever so frantically flinching pigeons"
yes, used to be longevity of age was respected
for surviving life
where as now, with speed of gimmicky gadgets
and whole sentences reduced to acronyms
people look upon elders of their own family
as mere burdens...
still, good to find the funny in life's cyclical tragedies
help us maintain a semblance of sanity
lol
thank you kind Poet for trying to relate
hope you enjoyed the read
Oh dear, the number of times in a single hour for that dash to the loo! It is quite amazing really. Why even call it weak bladder when it operates like an over active bladder!?
'busy buddy or busybody' if you will
lol
glad you found the funny, dear poet
My dear friend, you have described the plight of the geriatrically challenged, a group I proudly belong to, in wonderful detail. I can confirm every line. We plan road trips by way of rest stops and facilities. The last thing to do before leaving the house is the make sure no drop remains. There may come the time when more drastic measures are needed, just the words "adult diaper" make me shiver, just hope they come in designer colors. Thank you for this light hearted, if not heavy bladderded take on aging, sure gave me a laugh.
'just hope they come in designer colors'
Brilliant!
so glad you found it light n humorous
you've made my week, dear cherished Poet
thank you!
One or two points worth considering..... 😇!!!
NO reply please.
The truth is not only out, I see it is writ ..
Every now and then, I stumble upon something that makes me wanna laugh and cry at the same time ..
and this, is just such an occasion .. Not that I stumbled here by any means (stumble when taken within the context of it being inadvertent or accidental, that is) ..
I like to hope you know I would have got here in the end .. and as always, in a direct, precise and determined manner of my own compelled free will ..
I do tend to stumble increasingly however, by virtue of precisely what you allude to and so graphically herein ..
I also have an abundance of grey days & vague moments .. It gets to us all doesn't it brother if we breath long enough .. there now, I feel another episodic bout of incongruity of affect about to strike ..
'I do tend to stumble increasingly however'
lmao!
you do deadpan like a gold medallist
my most cherished Hyung
...so funny
thanks for the laugh, it's good for the heart
🍻
Good write👌
thank you, glad you enjoyed the read
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