[Co-written with my mom. – Owen]

To doctors, then, we up and go;
The reason why we do not know,
Although they seem to deal in hearts,
To judge from posters in these parts
That tell us of veins varicose
With photos shot from very close.

And there’s a treadmill here and there,
And people in their underwear
All of whom seem confused as me
About just what emergency
Has us brought here to sit and wait.
This is the life, but it ain’t great.

I’m eighty-seven, give or take,
How many trips I’ve left to make
I couldn’t say, but there went one,
To come out here where it’s no fun,
And have a monitor get strapped
To me, whose strength is almost sapped,

But, hey — this is the way with age.
And I will quote a famous sage
Who said: good luck with getting old!
It’s only for the brave and bold:
To face life’s troubles, near and far,
Without quite knowing where

You are