Vertigo

I wasn’t sure who I should call,
The fourth time that I hit the wall.

I laid there, staring at the valance,
Waiting to regain my balance.

My sense of balance really stunk,
Yet, for once, I wasn’t drunk.

The therapist said my crystals fell,
Off the rods my ears held so well.

(I knew eventually crystals would be an involved.)

My wife suspected that I had a stroke.
In the lonely night, just before I awoke.

But with a stroke, I wouldn’t only miss the bed.
With a stroke, I would have woke up dead.

So, a nautical lesson, as I slip.
One hand for me, one for the ship.

When I’m home, and not out sailing,
It’s time to go install some railing.

My grandkids’ and my worlds collide,
Because we both can slip and slide.

I just find it very wrong,
To be diagnosed with a U2 song.

(At least, I wasn’t diagnosed with Mysterious Ways.)

Progress

I will see a mansion on a hill.
I wish my house remained there still.
Some unnamed Yuppie came to town.
He bought my house and tore it down.

I haven’t lived in it for years,
Which doesn’t seem to stop the tears.
It was the place where I grew up.
It sheltered me, my Mom and Dad and pup.

I knew someday it would be gone.
I just didn’t want to play along.
I wanted to be able to just drive by,
And see it standing beneath the sky.

Yesterday, it was an empty lot.
It’s now a place that time forgot.
I will miss my happy (former) home.
Now, I’m feeling even more alone.

I know that everything must die.
I just hoped to see my past survive.
I understand that times will change.
I just thought my past remained the same.

Fifty Five

Wine improves with aging,
So does imported cheese.
My life has turned to vinegar,
So, can I stop aging, please?

I wrote a poem at fifty-four,
It wasn’t bad, I think.
But that was a year ago,
Now, I need a drink.

I don’t really feel that old.
Age is all in the mind, I see.
So, I guess I’ll pick a random time,
Let’s say, I’m forty-three.

In spite of all the Facebook posts,
My expression is still stony.
I’ve finally admitted to myself,
I’ll never get a pony.

Birthday Party

A birthday party is for the young,
When you discuss hopes and dreams.
As you get older, the topics change,
To aches and pains and schemes.

Somewhere about that special time,
A person gets his first real job,
Much of the magic disappears.
As work makes your head throb.

“What are you going to be when you grow up?”
Is a happy question, full of hope.
“Is this what you’re doing the rest of your life?”
Just doesn’t have the same scope.

Also, the toys get much more expensive,
So, the gifts just aren’t as nice.
Eventually, you don’t get toys at all.
You get petty cash or just advice.

A youngster gets his first bike,
And the world becomes his yard.
An old fart gets a generous check,
And thinks, “Pay off Visa or MasterCard?”

Eventually, you discuss deaths.
Remembering the deceased is so much fun.
When the only party guests are family,
You begin to think you’re almost done.

A birthday party for an old fart
Is just a dinner party with cake.
The cake may be sugar or gluten-free,
But, at least you get some cake.

Fifty Four

I still don’t feel old,
I guess I really should.
I’m writing my life lessons,
I told myself I would.

I shouldn’t waste money,
But I just can’t be a miser.
I’m another year older,
And another Budweiser.

Salesmen can be useful,
Those just aren’t the ones I get.
Lawyers can be honest,
It’s just not the way to bet.

You can fall in love,
You can fall in really deep.
But whomever you may find to love,
No-one beats a good night’s sleep.

It’s too late to be on the stage,
I’ll just stand here by the riser.
I’m another year older,
And another Budweiser.

Lots of (funny) failures,
Very occasional success.
I’ve tried to be myself,
Just never to excess.

I made fast food in high school.
Burgers, fries and all.
So, I’m an unemployed chef
Whenever Food Network calls.

I won’t ever be a King.
I won’t even be the Kaiser.
I’m just another year older,
And another Budweiser.

Morning Commute

To the tune of “Frere Jacques”

Road construction. Road construction.
LBJ. LBJ.
Seems to last forever. Seems to last forever.
In my way. In my way.

Diuretic, Diuretic
Makes you pee, Makes you pee.
Now I’m stuck in traffic, Now I’m stuck in traffic.
Woe is me. Woe is me.