Being Ninety - - - If Only ...
A bio for Frank L Ashen appears before his poem "What a difference a year makes".
BEING NINETY --- IF ONLY ...
I give thanks for having reached this day After some hiccups on the way.
When the excitement (?) has come and gone Back to normal I'll carry on.
Sometimes it seems I'm doing well, at others it is hard to tell.
Some things I did without a thought Now become problems, somewhat fraught.
If only I could pack a holiday bag just as others do.
Some pants and vests and shirts and socks, some trousers and some woollies, too.
But first there comes the meditation, working out the medication.
Tablets, capsules and the like, creams, salves, something for the night.
It's not so much what you are 'on', but allowing for what might go wrong.
No one to consult with as of yore. Play for safety, take rather more.
If only I could walk a line; one that is moderately straight.
Instead of stumbling as if to mime one who's had one over the eight.
Would aerobics, I wondered, improve my poise; even reducing excess avoirdupois.
I surely must be off my noddle, expecting a leotard to stop the wobble.
Better continue with the soft shoe shuffle, more suited to this old geezer.
Goodbye to the days of movements supple. Make way for the human Tower of Pisa.
If only I was good at figures just like I used to be.
No Carol Vorderman perhaps, but good enough for me.
As I shuffle around Sainsburys, my trolley at the ready.
Looking for the 'specials', it's all a bit heady.
Can't keep up with the "Buy two, get one free". It really is too much for me.
With credit cards and Switch I am managing all right,
but an abacus might save the day and give me peace at night.
When the excitement (?) has come and gone Back to normal I'll carry on.
Sometimes it seems I'm doing well, at others it is hard to tell.
Some things I did without a thought Now become problems, somewhat fraught.
If only I could pack a holiday bag just as others do.
Some pants and vests and shirts and socks, some trousers and some woollies, too.
But first there comes the meditation, working out the medication.
Tablets, capsules and the like, creams, salves, something for the night.
It's not so much what you are 'on', but allowing for what might go wrong.
No one to consult with as of yore. Play for safety, take rather more.
If only I could walk a line; one that is moderately straight.
Instead of stumbling as if to mime one who's had one over the eight.
Would aerobics, I wondered, improve my poise; even reducing excess avoirdupois.
I surely must be off my noddle, expecting a leotard to stop the wobble.
Better continue with the soft shoe shuffle, more suited to this old geezer.
Goodbye to the days of movements supple. Make way for the human Tower of Pisa.
If only I was good at figures just like I used to be.
No Carol Vorderman perhaps, but good enough for me.
As I shuffle around Sainsburys, my trolley at the ready.
Looking for the 'specials', it's all a bit heady.
Can't keep up with the "Buy two, get one free". It really is too much for me.
With credit cards and Switch I am managing all right,
but an abacus might save the day and give me peace at night.
If only I could better use my hands to write or turn a screw.
Guiding the pen or driver as the tools are meant to do.
Now aches and pains and eyesight add to the impedimenta.
The screwhead often out of sight, can't find the bloomin' centre.
Arthritis in the wrists is naughty. Perhaps I'll try some WD40.
Thankful, yes, for having reached this stage. I will not dwell upon
The fact that with increasing age, increasing loneliness, too, goes on.
Guiding the pen or driver as the tools are meant to do.
Now aches and pains and eyesight add to the impedimenta.
The screwhead often out of sight, can't find the bloomin' centre.
Arthritis in the wrists is naughty. Perhaps I'll try some WD40.
Thankful, yes, for having reached this stage. I will not dwell upon
The fact that with increasing age, increasing loneliness, too, goes on.
Oh, if only ....
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