Kevin Brennan Writes About What It's Like
Another on the theme of aging. I passed this mark some time ago, but for those of you born in ’63:
On Turning Fifty
At first you don’t suspect a thing
But then your ears begin to ring,
And then you get progressive lenses
(Or, if a lady, you stop your menses).
Digestion — less reliable,
Your skin — notably less pliable,
Memories once clear grow foggy,
Each night by ten o’clock you’re groggy.
Don’t get me started on libido,
I’ve had to nickname mine Placido.
Alas, my cockles ain’t alive alive-o,
I’ve slammed right into the big 5-0.