Lying in Bed
It’s true that I’d be lying if I said
I find it easy getting out of bed.
There goes the damned alarm! Once more I struggle
To turn it off. Oh, how I yearn to snuggle
Beneath the downy pillows and the covers,
And dream of past insatiable lovers.
There’s what’s-her-name, the barmaid from “The Rose”,
And thingummy, who loved to suck my toes,
And all those girls who came to see my etchings ...
Forgive me for these geriatric lechings,
But when you’re my age, chewing on a denture,
It’s memories that keep you from dementia.
Where did it go, that once-abundant crumpet?
I’m now reduced to blowing my own trumpet.
But duty calls; I have to walk the dog,
And write my “Son of Casanova ” blog.
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