There is very little that’s
golden about the golden
years, let me tell you and
I’m old enough to tell you
straight out what I think,
only the young have time
for circumspection and
I’m not young any more.
Oh, there’s gold in prescriptions
and doctors and hospitals
to be sure, but it’s the gold
to pay for them and don’t even
get me started on all the
patronizing because you think
old means stupid; old means
hard of hearing but old doesn’t
mean stupid. Now, where
did you say I could find
Mama’s room?
This poem is submitted to One Shot Sunday, hosted by One Stop Poetry. To see other poems based on the prompt, please visit the site.
Photograph by Greg Laychak for One Stop Poetry, Used with permission. You can find Greg Laychak’s web site here and you can follow him on Twitter.
