Sixty years have passed.

My body, once supple and new,

Has regretfully decided

There are some things it now cannot do.


A handstand is one

Because my shoulders ache and creak,

I cannot shout at all and sundry,

Due to cancer my voice is weak.


I cannot sing, recite this poem,

Or perform lunges at the gym.

The knees tell me no more jogging,

And my eyesight is growing dim.


My back goes out more than I do,

And my hair is going grey.

I can’t sleep at night,

But doze with ease during the day.


Slimming club lady tells me to watch what I eat,

No more cake and less red meat.

She’s a meanie,

One day I’ll fit in that yellow bikini.


Yeah, I’m going to do it

I’m going to get fit.

I owe it to myself

To stop me being a miserable git.


I’m going to love myself,

All the aches and pains,

All the wrinkles and lines,

Before my enthusiasm wanes.


My body is a temple

I’m going to worship,

The lumps, bumps and cellulite,

That dodgy old hip.

You only get one body,

And I’ve got mine.

I can’t get away from it,

So I’ll treat it like vintage wine.


You’d best drink me now

Before I shuffle off.

I’m aged and mature,

But I’ve got a bit of cough!

-Stevie Turner

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