The Escape

Today, I turned fifty-five;
guess I’m lucky to be alive.
Looking back over those lost years -
pro’ly drank several thousand beers
and smoked a few hundred packs -
small wonder I won’t get youth back!

I’ve clogged my veins with red meat
and taken poor care of my feet,
worried myself to a frazzle,
ignored my teeth – lost that dazzle.
Pompadour? a thing of my past –
like my Dad, my hair didn’t last.

But I retain some joie de vivre -
rare morns when my stomach’s pain free.
Those precious few days I’m less tired,
when blessed with a vision - inspired,
I grab my pen - scratch a fresh rhyme -
escape to a happier time.