Tattoos in Mayberry

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I run my bath water tepid,

I'm older but, still fairly intrepid.

Since, turning 62,

What on earth can I do?

But, to laugh at it all.

Do I entertain you?

Though, not old enough for a rest home,

it's being whispered

I resemble a garden gnome.

My spirit bleeds silly.

My veneer is blanched pilly.

I'm growing old, what a drag.

When I date, I go stag.

Young women and old,

must think I have mold.

I barely get noticed

so what's the red flag?

I've even considered renting rut stags

But, men too would use me

They'd hurt and abuse me

then toss me away like a toothless old nag.

I've once again been reviewing The Tao.

It instructs me to dwell in the "here" and the "now".

But, "now" my skin isn't pink.

I smell like a skunk, what a stink.

Like the cancer it has traveled to my toilet and sink.

A stealthy stench, of which

it's a bitch.

You don't need a de-coder

to uncover the odor.

I'm slowly decaying,

I'm dying,

I think!

Buddy Bee Anthony

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