Fifty
Just when you thought things could get no worse,
When everything at last looked kind of nifty,
Comes some bad news riding over the hill -
You turn round, and suddenly you’re fifty.
So you must wave good-bye to forty-nine,
This ongoing fiction aside must be laid:
It’s time to face up to the starkest truth -
You’re about to embark on your sixth decade!
Or half a century, if you prefer,
And that doesn’t include any inflation,
That’s two score years and ten passed by already:
At least half of your life’s expectation.
Soon it’ll be Sanatogen and Cocoa,
Looking for housing benefits and grants,
Slippers, hot-water bottles and blankets,
Stair-lifts, walking-sticks and incontinence pants.
Not long after that till your bus-pass,
A fact I hardly like to mention,
Although I’m afraid it’ll take much longer,
Til you finally pick up your pension.
It’s a sad truth, but you’re no longer a youth,
I can see you’re a bit down in the mouth,
And you’ll spend days, caught up in a haze,
Trying to stop everything that’s heading South.
No point at this stage, getting into a rage,
I’d have thought that the message is clear:
Whatever else happens in life from now on,
Remember – it’s all downhill from here!
But try not to curse, for things could be worse,
And I really don’t want to sound shifty,
Just realise that, for more than one of us,
It’s been a while since we last saw fifty!
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment