Old Man Brxb

A place for my poems

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Playing The “Old Age” Card

by J. Carl Brooksby (at age 92)

Have you had thoughts how life gets worse, the older that you get?
Your legs get weak, your eyes get dim; you can’t hear what is said?
Well, I’ve been there, and thought that way, but I’ve had a change of mind.
The cards are dealt, and I must play, but there’s a way to play, I find.

You must convince your family that you’re getting stiff and weak.
It helps to stagger when you walk; don’t hear them when they speak.
Complain that you are dizzy, better sit down in the shade.
Once you get their sympathy, old man, you’ve got it made.

“I’ll do that for you, Grandpa.  You needn’t lift your pinkie”.
“I’ll take that garbage for you, though it is a little stinky”.
“That vacuum cleaner’s hard to push.  I’ll take it from your hand.
You sit there in your easy chair.  Now, isn’t that just grand?”

“You don’t have to do the dishes, Dad.  Just sit and watch TV.
If one of  us must do the work, I’d rather it be me.”
“You sit up in the front seat, Dad.  I’ll sit here in the rear.
Your legs will have more room to move, and you’ll be where you can hear.”

Then, there are times when they all leave, and you are by yourself.
These are the times to live it up; don’t sit there on the shelf.
Hop in your car, and hit the road; to the freeway you may drive.
Then you proceed to drive your age;  for me,  it’s ninety five.

Then pull into a Sonic, buy a milk shake and some fries.
Sit and think back to the old days when the car-hops caught your eyes.
Then hurry home, do not be late; look sleepy when they come.
Tell them you are glad they went, and glad that you stayed home.

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