Old people
"get grumpy and generationally conservative
and they have to pee too much
and it starts to hurt and they lose their wit
and charm and mental faculties,"
writes Dash Macintyre (whose surname means son of the land,
i.e. wolf) in a poem called Soiled and Sour.
Dear Mr Wolf,
I'm 82 (too old, but not so very old)
and haven't lost my wits, nor wit,
and I have charming encounters
with the postwoman, shopkeepers,
deliverers of parcels,
strangers at the market or in the supermarket.
I don't pee too much, but too often,
which is a very minor problem.
I can mend my rimless glasses
and the electric kettle,
I can collect logs in the trailer
and bring them in a wheelbarrow
and stack them in the cellar.
I sometimes forget to flushor zip up my fly.
But if such things appal you
I can (with pity) only sigh.
Though I tend to leave lights on,
I actually drive better (more attentively)
than I used to do, at (usually)
around 500* miles an hour –
and am absolutely neither soiled nor sour.
But you sound rather spoiled...
*intentional error
 |
| Having just pissed, by the roadside, October 2023. There is no fly on a djellaba, nor on me. |
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