Poetry Jam Sixty-seven

Poetry Jam invites consideration of the age of 67. (I think consideration AT the age of 67 would be better.)

A further challenge is to write in an unfamiliar form. 'If you're a rhymer, don't rhyme. If you're not a rhymer, rhyme.' 

H'mm! The trouble is that I'm a wordy soul(that's WORDY not WORTHY) and never know when to stop. Maybe it's just my age;-)

I’m sixty-seven now, have been for months -

It’s just another number 

Or so I tell myself and believe it

Until I pass a mirror!

Though I swim and garden and walk the dogs,

Getting up from a chair is tough -

It’s nothing to do with the passing years,

I was fine till New Year’s Eve.

Then I danced and jived in my high-heeled shoes

Until the midnight hour.

Long journeys to take the dogs to Dorset

Who spent the night with daughter

And then home again the very next day

Caused sacroiliac pain

So that I lurched like a drunken sailor -

You’d think one leg was shorter.

It’s much better now, though I use a pole

When I’m walking in the woods;

It’s just for confidence, you understand -

Tripping on tree roots is jarring

And a folding stick accompanies me

If I have to walk elsewhere.

My daughters and son worry about this –

It’s an unusual sight for them.

They see beyond the casual excuse,

Believing that I’m ageing.

I shall not dance again next New Year’s Eve,

Or at least not in high heels.

When I’m sixty-eight I’ll be walking straight

And rising with ease from seats.

Don’t they say that great wisdom comes with age?

How much older must I be?

Barry and I both use Pacerpoles. He uses two because he's sensible. I use one, because I'm not and also I need one hand for the AquaKong - or to grab Frodo, the over-protective Velcro dog.