I think I Still Got It (Sort Of)

I think I Still Got It (Sort Of)

My knees now creak like haunted doors,

I grunt just bending down for drawers.

I sneeze and it’s a gamble, friend.

Might leak a bit, depends the bend.

My specs are perched on top my head,

I’ve searched all day for them instead.

I snore like thunder in my chair,

Then blame the cat and act all fair.

My hair’s gone rogue, no shade to dye

It does its own thing, don’t ask why.

My bingo wings could fly a kite,

I trip on air but claim I’m spry (yeah, right)

I flirt with Greg at number nine,

He winks, then asks if I need wine?

I might forget where I have been,

But never who last brought the gin.

So pour a glass and sit with me,

We’ll toast to hips and memory

I’ve earned these laughs, these aches, this chin

And darling — I’m still on a win.