The House in Which I Dwell is Old
The house in which I dwell is old.
It's settling below.
Its upper joints have bent from cold,
Hoarfrosty shocks and blows.
From age its rooftop now has bleach'd.
Its windows grimed — most dark.
Its dumbwaiter's stuck down from rust.
Its cellar's wholly stark.
The Keeper does not light Her Lamp
As She did formerly —
That soul —
Housemate —
That silent Vamp —
Ahoused eternity.
© Wilson Varga 2018
Because I Ran Around When Young
Because I ran around when young
Old knees have failed old me.
The pain to stand is great; I cry
And tear to flex each knee.
A torn meniscus each now has.
A mis-stepp'd twist does wrench
Menisci out of joints. Ow-ouch!
Stopped cold. Confined to bench.
The docs do push their surgery.
Replacement joints have they.
"Recovering will painful be;
No stairs you'll climb," they say.
Alone in townhouse do I dwell,
Four flights from top to base.
Not senior-ready is my house.
Four flights! Can't heal in place.
"Lose weight," docs say. "Fat chance," says I;
"It hurts like hell to move."
"Move out," friends say. "Slim chance," says I;
"There's tons to pack or lose."
Like Lucifer I'm pained in hell
Below bilat'rally.
Old knees I salve as I may well:
Capzasin™ lib'rally.
You youngsters, spare your joints some wear.
Do learn from me. Stay strong,
And treat your knees with gentle care.
You'll miss them when they're gone.1
1 Mary Schmich, "Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young," June 1, 1997, Chicago Tribune. (Popularly known as "Wear Sunscreen.")
Chicago Tribune via the Internet Archive's Wayback Machine, accessed September 6, 2014:
Wikipedia article:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wear_Sunscreen
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