Tattoos in Mayberry

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The View at 62

I run my bath water tepid,

I'm older but, still fairly intrepid.

Since, turning 62,

What on earth can we 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 aside like some 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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