I could be slowly dying! “Well”, say you,
“So what? We’re dying from the day we’re born.”
Yes, intellectually, I know that’s true –
We start off pristine, end up badly-worn;
The clock is ticking, quicker and still quicker,
Towards the day we’re whacked by entropy,
And there are no more ticks left in the ticker –
But never thought it could apply to me . . .
Until I started feeling aches and pains,
And noticed that a tooth began to rot,
And found some marbles. (Were they once my brain’s?)
Then there’s my hair; is that a balding spot?
Life’s just on loan. One day, I know, the debt
Incurred by endless cigarettes and whisky
Must be repaid in full . . . but not just yet;
It’s Springtime, and I’m feeling rather frisky.
If you have any comments on this poem, Brian Allgar
would be pleased to hear from you.