My goodness! Thursday already. This year is racing past at an alarming speed. Better start your Christmas shopping pretty soon.
That outburst, when examined closely, reveals it’s time to publish a new post, and I haven’t an idea in my head. Well, when it’s fourth down and ten, it’s time to punt. So that’s exactly what I’ll do. My alter ego has written a poem. (He calls it that with a straight face, and since I know nothing about poetry, I’ll go along with it.) With deepest apologies, here goes:
I’M NOT A TUMS KIND OF GUY
By Donald T. Morgan
I’m not a Tums kind of guy.
The belly may be round
And oft overstuffed,
But I’ve never been a Tums kind of guy.
Yet as the years go by
And the hair turns gray
(please, no snickers now),
Maybe I’m not the same kind of guy.
The knees start to go
And the first thing you know,
The joints say click and clack.
Definitely not the same kind of guy.
As things begin to sag,
My clothes become a bag
And worse … I don’t even care.
More changes to my kind of guy.
A shock sets me back
As the mirror reveals
How profound the changes have been.
What kind of a guy am I now?
Wind has gone chasing after stamina,
Which took off in search of energy.
Ambition has vanished, but I cannot say where.
Am I even a guy at all?
With gurgles and groans my stomach
Confirms what I crave no longer craves me.
What was tripe to my tongue is now daily fare.
Maybe I am a Tums kind of guy.
Well, there it is … for what it’s worth. (Not much in my opinion, but I’ve been accused of being jaded in my outlook on life.)
Thanks for putting up with it,
Don Travis (Just so there’s no confusion between the two Dons)
Next week: I’ll try to do better.
New posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.