Oh, good Lord, don’t let me be your prey

I forget that I am old  until I’m out
Walking like a cripple in a drought
People tell me,dial 999
I don’t want to be so well defined 

Getting off the bus, five people call
Wait until he stops or you will fall
Am I looking worse than yesterday?
Oh, good Lord, don’t let me be  your prey

I sit down on a wall, is that a crime?
Have I crossed a boundary or line?
The wooden benches all are gone away
The homeless used to sleep on them, they say

I sang Joan of Arc at the bus stop
In Lancashire they say, y’ alright cock?

Cock and darling,honey and my sweet
My lovely,   you are looking a real treat

I forgot to keep accounts and say my prayers
I guess I’m  fending off some kind of dare
Where’s my handbag, where’s my bloody phone?
It’s acting adolescent as it roams

When I take  naproxen, it won’t work
Opium is dangerous with some luck
I lie in bed and see the sun pour in
Then I know that life will always win


About Katherine

I like art, poetry,history, literature,cooking,doing nothing to music.And conversation
This entry was posted in humor, nonsense, poetry, Thinkings and poems. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Oh, good Lord, don’t let me be your prey

  1. Syd Weedon says:

    I have a good friend, a Chinese lady whose family fled Mao, and she likes to say, “Getting old is not for sissies.”

    Liked by 1 person

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