Curmudgeon Doggerel

The aches, the pains, the discomfort list
–enough to make an elder pissed.
In your 60s, crackling joints:
you start to wonder what’s the point.
And that is when you realize:
“old curmudgeon” is just your size;
You’ve earned the right to be a grump
you’ve just cause for that cane’s thump;
You comprehend the glint of eye
flashed from the man of sixtyfive;
You dig that look from the inside
as you buckle for the final ride.

The right to be a grouch is yours;
you yowl at cats and bark at curs;
you snatch their ball from on your lawn,
and toss it on their roofs at dawn;
you pass your gas in subway cars,
you glare at bearded hipster bars;
“Oops!”, you bump their iPhones down,
to sewer gratings–never found.
Call the cops on that loud party,
even when the band is arty;
you sneer at teen girl’s skirts at malls–
“When I was young they were twice as small!”
Aging’s a creep, but it’s worth it all
–to be free to mock millennials!

–John Shirley

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