Fifty Not Out

At birthday times,
The jokes and rhymes
All focus on senility.
The rocking chair,
The nasal hair,
The free-fuel eligibility.
But let it end!
Let’s buck the trend,
And let’s not dwell upon
This age-old spiel,
For one day we’ll
Be old and frail like John.

We will not speak
Of bladders weak,
That night-time toilet visit.
When Fates demand
A quite dash, and
Relief is so exquisite.
Nor shall we tell
Of prostate hell,
Operations undergone.
We’ll keep this deal
For one day we’ll
Be doddery like John.

That youthful gait
Has slowed of late –
Its really quite pathetic.
But to shoot the breeze
‘Bout dodgy knees
Would be unsympathetic.
We won’t discuss
The hidden truss,
The eyes that one-time shone.
We’ll be genteel
For one day we’ll
Be racked with pain like John.

Nor will we write
Of his sad plight
When parcelled off and pensioned.
And ticking clocks
And thinning locks
Likewise will not be mentioned.
For talk of death
And rasping breath
Would make him woebegone.
It seems unreal
But one day we’ll
Be in decline like John.

The wrinkled skin
And softened chin
Aren’t things to be repeated.
The smell of must
Won’t be discussed,
Nor marbles so depleted.
We will not say
“He’s had his day,
His star’s now pale and wan.”
It’s hard to feel
That one day we’ll
Be comatose like John.

Those graveyard gates
That he awaits –
It’s best that we ignore them.
Though they’re quite near,
We think its clear
We shouldn’t stop before them.
Eyes straight ahead,
Ignore the dead,
That final rubicon.
Old wounds don’t heal
And one day we’ll
Be near the end like John.

So let’s pretend
There is no end,
Let’s say he’s still quite nifty.
And let us cry
That whopping lie
That life begins at fifty.
Let’s laugh with glee
And say that he
Will always soldier on.
We must conceal
The fact that we’ll
Be one day old like John.