but the dentures of old
and two fillings of gold
and a bladder’s cantankerous flow,
if your skin looks like freshly plowed earth,
and the shysters consider your worth,
you can sit in your chair
in the afternoon air
and be drifting right back to your birth.
Not a soul seems to pay too much mind
of the elderly, cranky or kind.
If it’s hundred you reach
they will want you to teach
if it’s not, they will leave you behind.
So dear Auntie, you’ve made the big splash,
thanks a million for sending me cash,
back when Kennedy died
and my scooter got fried
when my future looked not very flash.
So, in deepest appreciation
after timeless deliberation,
I am sending to you
without further ado,
my idea of reciprocation.
Let me add though, an urgent idea
I shall whisper this into your ear,
don’t let anyone get
the old tin soldier set,
as God’s punishment might be severe.