© What? When? Where? Who? Why?
Who
am I? I don’t recognise the face that stares back at me in the mirror when I
shave.
I
seem to have become invisible; my individuality has practically gone to the
grave…
Before
me. What was that? I didn’t hear your last remark, gee it’s dark – turn the
light on!
Oh
pardon me it’s already on, I didn’t notice ‘cause I was a bit engrossed in the
sit-com
On
the box. I can’t handle the news. Who is she? Another model in designer shoes
and clothes,
Talking
about the weather, low pressure systems and isobars; one more avatar I
suppose...
From
television land where life is still magic and grand. Where’s the remote? That’s
enough
For
now. I’ve had a more than adequate rant from the sacred cows; time to call
their bluff.
Who
are you? I don’t recognise your face but it’s strangely familiar...ah yes, we
worked a lot
Together.
I’ve lost my memory you see. It was stolen by an elephant that was shaken but
not...
Stirred;
now it’s all blurred. What’s the time? Crumbs, gotta go – it was nice to see
you again.
I’ve
got an appointment to give some blood to pathology – Vampira has the needle at
the vein.
“Now
you’ll feel a slight prick,” says she. I’ve felt a slight prick for years.
What’s it matter? “Ow!’
Lord
that hurt! But I won’t be curt in reply. Just sign the form and storm out –
time for coffee now.
We’re
sitting in another converted Post Office café and music plays. What’s that
tune? Can’t recall
For
the moment. It’s another maddening situation and around midnight I’ll remember
as I fall...
Asleep.
Who missed out? Those interminable jokes about being short; sorry...vertically
challenged!
I
wish I was invincible, bullet-proof like in the (good?) old days - pre decimal
currency, untrammelled
By
thoughts of inadequacy. Why did I bother? The pathetic struggle for ecstasy
that leads to despair.
I’m
dreaming of a white chrysanthemum or was it Mum in white? She haunts me but I
do declare:
It
gets easier to avoid the slings and arrows. Why bother to deny? I can’t
tolerate the football or tennis,
Golf
or cricket. I like surfing...on the net
and poetry and ukulele and drinking wine is fine and Venice
Was
amazing! Travel broadens the mind (and the waistline) sitting in the coach.
Where are we the noo?
I’m
yet to get to Paris. Harassed I am by the thought that the city of light is
beyond me – Mon Dieu!
When’s
it my turn? Stuck in a hospital in Switzerland gasping for breath, wondering
what’s left for me.
Back
in Australia with all the expensive breathing paraphernalia that I must use
every night to stay free
Of
the Grim Reaper. What’s the worry? Sometimes I think it might be cheaper just
to remain upright.
Just
have the odd snooze on the couch whilst I sort through the barrage of trivia in
my brain tonight.
Turn
up the volume please; I’ll put the shawl around my knees and... Why are my shoes so far away?
It’s
getting harder to reach the laces; I’m wearing slippers more each day. Now,
what did they say?
I’m
quite afraid that next I’ll need a hearing aid. Speak up damn you – haven’t you
heard of enunciation?
No!
It’s not a term for a nun who sends a communication over the Internet in a
state of agitation.
I
feel more agitated than the washing machine, more tumbled than the dryer. Why
are things... harder?
To
understand, comprehend, follow the trend and blend in: who cares? Let’s eat –
what’s in the larder?
Be
reasonable: do it my way. Don’t give me grief, it wasn’t so long ago I was
chief cook and bottle wash,
Where’s
my handkerchief? Lord but my arm aches and I’ve got the shakes – must have been
the swash-
Buckling
nurse with the needle. When do we go
back to see the doctor who, incidentally, has just returned
From
a trek in New Zealand? Humph, alright for some but I’m not miffed or overcome
or concerned.
There’s
still lots of films to see; books to read; places to be; wine to drink,
concerts to hear.... dear, it’s cold!
Turn
up the heater. I don’t know if we could be bothered with the theatre after all.
(Sigh) I hate getting old.
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