I cannot see I cannot pee I cannot chew I cannot screw. My memory shrinks My hearing stinks No sense of smell I look like hell. How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before the year's grown, my goodness, how the time has flown. The Golden Years have come at last The Golden Years can kiss my ass!

Hear eye sit inn English class; the likelihood is that eye won't pass An F on my report card wood bee worse than swallowing glass It's knot that eye haven't studied, often till late at knight Butt the rules are sew confusing, eye simply can't get them write Hour teacher says, "Heed my advice, ewe must study and sacrifice" Butt if mouses are mice and louses are lice, how come blouses aren't blice The confusion really abounds when adding esses two nouns Gooses are geese, butt mooses aren't meese; somebody scent in the clowns Two ultimatums are ultimata, and a couple of datum are data Sew wouldn't ewe expect it wood bee correct fore a bunch of plums to be plata? And if more than won octopus are octopi, and the plural of ox is oxen Shouldn't a couple of busses bee bussi and a pare of foxes bee foxen? Let's talk about spelling a wile, specifically letters witch are silent Words like "psychologist" and "wreck" shirley make awl of us violent And another example quite plane witch is really hard two explain If it's eye before e except after sea, then what about feign and reign? The final exam will determine how eye due, weather eye pass ore fail I halve prepared as much as eye can down two the last detail I'm ready two give it my vary best inn just a little wile And then isle take a relaxing wrest on a tropical aisle. (By Alan Balter)

Today at the drugstore, the clerk was a gent. From my purchase, this chap took off 10 percent. I asked for the cause of a lesser amount; And he answered, “Because of the Seniors Discount.” I went to McDonald’s for a burger and fries; And there, once again, got quite a surprise. The clerk poured some coffee which he handed to me. He said, “For you seniors, the coffee is free.” Understand — I’m not old — I’m merely mature; But some things are changing, temporarily, I’m sure. The newspaper print gets smaller each day, And people speak softer — can’t hear what they say. My teeth are my own (I have the receipt), and my glasses identify people I meet. Oh, I’ve slowed down a bit… not a lot, I am sure. You see, I’m not old… I’m only mature. The gold in my hair has been bleached by the sun. You should see all the damage that chlorine has done. Washing my hair has turned it all white, But don’t call it gray… saying “blond” is just right. My car is all paid for… not a nickel is owed. Yet a kid yells, “Old duffer… get off of the road!” My car has no scratches… not even a dent. Still, I get all that guff from a punk who’s “Hell bent.” My friends all get older… much faster than me. They seem much more wrinkled, from what I can see. I’ve got “character lines,” not wrinkles… for sure, But don’t call me old… just call me mature. The steps in the houses they’re building today Are so high that they take… your breath all away; And the streets are much steeper than 10 years ago. That should explain why my walking is slow. But I’m keeping up on what’s hip and what’s new, And I think I can still dance a mean boogaloo. I’m still in the running… in this I’m secure, I’m not really old… I’m only mature!

Ahhmmm ahhhmmm! I have written a little poem, it's called: "Same Old Me". It goes like this: "When I was in my younger days, I weighed a few pounds less. I needn’t hold my tummy in To wear a belted dress. But now that I am older, I’ve set my body free; There’s the comfort of elastic Where once my waist would be. The inventor of those high-heeled shoes My feet have not forgiven I have to wear a size nine now, But I used to wear a seven. And how about those pantyhose They’re sized by weight, you see, So how come when I put them on, The crotch is at my knees? I need to wear these glasses. As the prints were getting smaller; And it wasn’t very long ago I know that I was taller. Though my hair has turned to silver And my skin no longer fits, and the outside, I’m not what I used to be. But here on the inside, I’m still the same old me!"

My new phone is "smart." I guess that I'm not. Amazing what all this here smart phone has got. TV and Weather and Internet, too. There's just no limits to what it can do. Check my blood pressure and my temperature Without even probing all my apertures. I now know the time in Paris or Greece. I can track the migration of thousands of geese Or find Chinese food; it's here on this map. Oops, my finger just slipped, now where was that at? A camera...a CAMERA! Now I can take shots Of everyone I know (who'd rather I not). Push this here button and take me a "selfie." (If it had a nose would this thing take a "smellfie"?) Email to pester with, video to shoot, Maps to drive 'round with, wow that's a hoot! A compass to guide me home if I'm lost. Thank God work paid for this thing (what it COSTS!). The things that it does would amaze Mr. Bell. What he would have thought of it, no one can tell, But one question's still stuck in my middle-aged craw. Despite all the gizmos that strike me with awe, They're fun and they're useful and "techy" and all ...but how do I just simply make a phone call?

The animal I really dig, Above all others is the pig. Pigs are noble. Pigs are clever, Pigs are courteous. However, Now and then, to break this rule, One meets a pig who is a fool. What, for example, would you say, If strolling through the woods one day, Right there in front of you you saw A pig who'd built his house of STRAW? The Wolf who saw it licked his lips, And said, 'That pig has had his chips.' 'Little pig, little pig, let me come in!' 'No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!' 'Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!' The little pig began to pray, But Wolfie blew his house away. He shouted, 'Bacon, pork and ham! Oh, what a lucky Wolf I am!' And though he ate the pig quite fast, He carefully kept the tail till last. Wolf wandered on, a trifle bloated. Surprise, surprise, for soon he noted Another little house for pigs, And this one had been built of TWIGS! 'Little pig, little pig, let me come in!' 'No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!' 'Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!' The Wolf said, 'Okay, here we go!' He then began to blow and blow. The little pig began to squeal. He cried, 'Oh Wolf, you've had one meal! Why can't we talk and make a deal? The Wolf replied, 'Not on your nelly!' And soon the pig was in his belly. 'Two juicy little pigs!' Wolf cried, 'But still I'm not quite satisfied! I know how full my tummy's bulging, But oh, how I adore indulging.' So creeping quietly as a mouse, The Wolf approached another house, A house which also had inside A little piggy trying to hide. 'You'll not get me!' the Piggy cried. 'I'll blow you down!' the Wolf replied. 'You'll need,' Pig said, 'a lot of puff, And I don't think you've got enough.' Wolf huffed and puffed and blew and blew. The house stayed up as good as new. 'If I can't blow it down,' Wolf said, I'll have to blow it up instead. I'll come back in the dead of night And blow it up with dynamite!' Pig cried, 'You brute! I might have known!' Then, picking up the telephone, He dialed as quickly as he could The number of red Riding Hood. 'Hello,' she said. 'Who's speaking? Who? Oh, hello, Piggy, how d'you do?' Pig cried, 'I need your help, Miss Hood! Oh help me, please! D'you think you could?' 'I'll try of course,' Miss Hood replied. 'What's on your mind...?' 'A Wolf!' Pig cried. 'I know you've dealt with wolves before, And now I've got one at my door!' 'My darling Pig,' she said, 'my sweet, That's something really up my street. I've just begun to wash my hair. But when it's dry, I'll be right there.' A short while later, through the wood, Came striding brave Miss Riding Hood. The Wolf stood there, his eyes ablaze, And yellowish, like mayonnaise. His teeth were sharp, his gums were raw, And spit was dripping from his jaw. Once more the maiden's eyelid flickers. She draws the pistol from her knickers. Once more she hits the vital spot, And kills him with a single shot. Pig, peeping through the window, stood And yelled, 'Well done, Miss Riding Hood!' Ah, Piglet, you must never trust Young ladies from the upper crust. For now, Miss Riding Hood, one notes, Not only has two wolfskin coats, But when she goes from place to place, She has a PIGSKIN TRAVELING CASE.