A poem about being a senior.

I’m now what they call a “senior”,
having reached the age of 65.
I’m retired, a job a thing I used to have.
Life is good. I’m happy to be alive.

I have many pleasant memories
of activities I once did in my past.
I used to be active in all sorts of sports,
tennis and running 10Ks were a blast.

Those days are now gone due to
arthritis crippling my hand and knee.
I watch sports on TV and to participate
I now play tennis and golf on the Wii.

I used to drive all day and never tire.
Nowadays on a road-trip I fall asleep;
after a few hours my eyes keep closing.
I tell you it’s like I’m counting sheep.

I now watch movies at home since
at theaters I fall asleep and snore,
much to my wife’s chagrin. I’ve
only seen parts of movies galore.

It’s probably a good thing that I sleep
so well in the car and on the couch;
those eight hours nightly that I used to
get has turned into four, I do vouch.

I used to go to the barbershop to get
my thick hair thinned. Today my bald
head shines just fine. I used to pay $5
a haircut; at today’s prices I’m appalled.

My mind used to be a fine-tuned machine,
remembering things with ease. At my age
I forget many things, from famous names
to why I came to the store. Brain engage!

And then there is sex…or more accurately
lack of it. To perform would require a pill.
I used to be a real stud; now I’m just a dud.
My sex drive must stay a thing I can’t fulfill.

At my age society considers me spent.
“Senior” is what they call me; it’s my label.
I wonder where all my past abilities went.
I’m a “used-to”, since I’m no longer able.