Hurry Curry

© 𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖆

I grow old ... I grow old ...

Bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Hitched to waist, belt'n'suspenders, 

Flapping loose, the silly pretenders,

Keep my nethers safe and warm,

Ladies swoon, to my oozing charm. 

Shall I part my hair behind?

Grey, receding, swirly kind. 

Armed now with gleaming dentures,

All meals are culinary adventures. 

Do I dare to eat a peach?

Sip piña colada, on the beach?

I grow old... I grow young...

Wading through the WhatCrapp dung.

One steps forward, two reverse,

Rising unbidden, a well worn curse. 

Do I even wrestle with the pig?

Do I, seriously, give a fig?

Delete, erase, the clever snark,

Thank you, friend, for the brilliant spark.🙏

Old age begins, and middle age ends,

The day your progeny outnumber your friends. 

(With apologies to J. Alfred Prufrock and his creator, T S Eliott)

© 𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖆