Old Age

From our January 2014 issue

By Ken Hoff – Moosehorn, Man.

It seemed that life would never end,
‘Til I reached three score years and ten.
I couldn’t make it pass me by,
So I looked “old age” in the eye.

I’ll learn about his stubborn fan,
Then I will tempt him if I can,
To find a more receptive friend,
So our relationship can end.

“Who are you? What’s your name?
What do you want? Are you insane?
Answer you sadistic rogue!
So I can send you down the road.”

“You are nothing but an attitude,
Your entrance quite surprising and quite rude,
Pick up your things and there’s the door,
Just go back where you were before.”

A guest like this I must evict,
I shoved him and his butt I kicked,
I hurled and slung insults galore,
But couldn’t get him out the door.

“You’re who? You’re really me?
Together, one image that I see?
This meld we cannot separate.
‘Til we stand before the pearly gate?”

“My choices, then, are really two,
No more life, or, life with you.
Since I want neither one to be,
You must make the choice for me.”