olden ew

my 70th birthday approaches my friends/and though i rejoice my alivedness/the upped crepitation encroaches my friends/and meds make existence contrivedness

young folk call me boomer in scorn-condescension/implying i’m taking up spacing/how useless my latin nouns with each declension/how t u r t l e s l o w dull is my pacing

i need no revenge though there’s some to be had/with hourglass watches and mire/ their years will flash by like a stripper unclad/and eternity dims all desire