Wet Dreams are gone.
Marathons are run.
What’s left but a stroll
in the evening sun?
Weight plates
hang on racks.
I got to take care
of my crumbling back.
Pace maker’s tickin’
Pulse rates low
Hearing aids workin’
Memory… well, you know…
For from the womb to the tomb
We’re dyin’
So as I age
I’ll just keep tryin’.
Everything’s eatable
Cause The End’s inevitable.
But there’s a trick
For the Geriatric:
Keep lookin’ ahead
Until you’re dead.
Poems by Ken 
How cheery! And merry Christmas to you. Eat up!