Stages of a Man's Life by James Ballie

Writes of Passage

Poets write of the passage of time,

rites of passing from baptism to dying.

I prefer to write of the passing of gas,

the ghastly apparition and smell, alas.

Licks to the funnybone along the way,

painful reminders of bullies at play.

Good old knuckle rubs to the head,

counting brain bumps with dread.

Throwing up from the first good drunk,

waking up wondering why you stunk.

When you embarrassed your date,

forgot to show up or were late.

You lost all that fabulous great deal money,

hid it from everyone, including your honey.

Fired from goofing off at work,

knew deep inside you were a jerk.

Had kids you didn't care for at all,

left them for her to carry the ball.

Left this earth with nothing to show,

except consuming space until you go.

Copyright 2023 © Ronald W. Hull

9/12/23

You can read and print this poem here at my website.