Drip, drip, drop, drop…

My internal plumbing states I must go,

So I stand there waiting for the flow,

Drip, drip, drop, drop it exits so slow,

Apparently my desire was to just stand in the glow,

Of the night light so bright,

Begs me, it does, to cover my eyes, before my pupils do grow…

Decide I must, I don’t have to pee,

Put it away just in time for it to flow,

The floodgates now open, my pants all wet,

Geez I feel like a little kid, diapers I must get…

Every hour or two, I am told I must go,

I know in my head, if I don’t I will surely blow,

Say to myself, do I, that I really must stop, yes whoa,

But that does not change the issue,

Maybe I should just sit and use the tissue,

For sometimes when I do force this proverbial issue,

Especially when standing, in my pants I definitely need more than one tissue…

What a story to be relating to you,

A story I should be telling my doctor,

Then she can tell my why I do experience the blues,

When through my “middle age” of life,

I cannot pee like that of a kid anymore,

Only when I sit down to do that of a pee yew, so brown, not blue…

                        © ed ~ 8/10/04