ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

Middle Age

Me bloody middle’s agein’,
it’s fallin’ off the twig…
me legs are still out ragin’,
but middle just won’t jig.

Me head is hale an’ hearty,
it’s never standin’ still,
an’ always wants ter party,
but middle lacks the will.

It’s gorn all soft an’ saggy,
it sits around all day
becomin’ blotched and baggy,
an’ doesn’t want ter play.

It’s just a couch pertater,
a lazy, useless sod
wot sez “Well, maybe later”
when I gives it a prod.

It burps an’ farts an’ grumbles,
it’s full of creaks and groans,
it murmurs an’ it mumbles,
it mutters an’ it moans.

I’m fed up with explainin’
the sorta fun we’d find,
so when it starts complainin’
I’ll just leave it behind!

© David 14/03/14

Why not

Oh dear David - should we call Doctor Stephen?

Getting old is an absolute bitch - nothing works as well as it did. Lovely to see you here and I like your poem - Good fun, at least our giggle meter still works

Not a pretty Picture you have painted so eloquently David.
Cheers
Val W

Good one David.

Very amusing David!

Oh David! I know the feeling! the only consolation to getting old (rather sad though) is I got my Health Care Card so I get cheap medicine! It is a bit sad when you get excited about things like this! Luved the poem!

Dot

Thank you, I'd forgotten about this one.

And now I'm eight months older,
my wife says I'm a crock.
"It's not my fault!" I told 'er,
"why can't we stop the clock?"

Cheers
David