Sometimes I panic. I’m 88.
I’m two hours late for a date.
I can’t find my shoes.
My pants are in the oven.
I just can’t lose.
I’m in the politics of the chosen.
Whomever I meet
seems to smell and creak.
I’m a dandy old boy.
Ship-ship ahoy!
Until I see a bum
I could have been one!
Then I become me again
and throw quarters to the wind.
Take my teeth out and don’t talk.
Limp along and seldom squawk.
Yes there’s a crowd of us!
Be silent so we can discuss
what you’re all missing right now:
Nature, God and the plow!
Why I’m 88 on the side.
Roll over me and abide!