I used to have a pretty ass.

I swear I am not lying.

I could attract all kinds of guys

Without even really trying.

Then Father Time, that royal bitch

Came to me and said,

“Age is like the wrinkles

You see all over your head.

Your butt, like your hairline,

From a distant former day

Has taken it upon itself

To slowly pull away.

So, now your various virtues

Have begun a bit of a sag.”

I told him then and right there

I did not appreciate the gag.


He said “You’ll notice these days

When you get up off the couch

You groan and moan just like

Old Oscar the Grouch.

Oh great, I thought, I’m turning

Into a children’s show character.

I want to cuss out Mother Nature

And really try to embarrass her.

After all, I didn’t ask

To fall apart this soon.

I’ve yet to win the lottery

Or walk upon the moon.

And, I want to swim the channel

Even though I fear the water.

Lifelong dreams, even when they’re wild

Are all that really matter.


I’ve noticed lately when I type

There are hairs on the keyboard.

I always blame it on the cats

I call them the Mongrel Horde.

I carefully make sure that I

Never bring to my awareness

That none of them have gray hair.

In fact one of them is hairless.

I’m sure I don’t have wrinkles yet

Because I don’t wear my glasses

When I look into the mirror.

You know when the boys make passes?

But, I admit I make my screen

Print out a half again the type size.

I may be getting older day by day

But, nobody can say I’m not wise.


Brent Kincaid




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