Wizened and Wrinkled

He knew he was getting older than he thought
When he saw he had wrinkles on his arms
And his biceps and sagging triceps withering away .
What the hell he muttered to himself
I’m turning into a wizened, wrinkled old corpse
Like an archaeologist dug up from some tomb.
Do I even still have a semblance of a pulse?
Is my ticker still ticking? Am I drawing a breath?
All systems are still go but for how long?
After he realized he still had a little life in him
He wondered if he could get a movie part as
A walking dead since he was almost the real deal
Or maybe a part as an extra playing a stiff in a mortuary
After he adjusted to his life wrinkling and waning away,
He said screw it, got soused, and went tipsily on his way.

Bob Boyd

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Author: BobBoyd

79, cancer survivor, work out 3 times a week, ride my exercise bike 2 hours daily. Began writing poetry October 2023, living in Greensboro, North Carolina, retired and enjoying a reclusive, solo, ever seeking knowledge life.

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