Peter Witt

May be old but I'm not dead yet

This morning I put my shirt on inside out,
nobody noticed or cared.

In the afternoon I walked around butt naked,
because I'm old and I can.

Last week I gave the finger to a kid
who almost ran me over with his bike,
he started to cry and said something
about telling his mother, I gave him
a tootsie roll, dog shit sold as candy,
he felt better, I laughed all the way home.

Tomorrow I'm going out to lunch at McDonalds,
will order a Big Mac, large fries, and a milkshake,
doctor says this stuff will kill me, after he informed
me I only had six months to live.

Next day it's my Thursday routine,
sit on the john reading Winnie the Pooh,
a play on words that I enjoy immensely.

In a couple of weeks I'll write checks
for my nieces and nephews to come pick up,
that's the only way they'll come see me,
need to send smaller checks more often.

Sometime in the near future I will die,
hopefully I'll get to eat an Egg McMuffin first,
die with a smile, full stomach, and
a final up yours to my doctor.


Each morning about seven
a man clad in grey shorts and workout shirt
walks by our house seemingly talking
to himself about a Netflix movie he saw last night,
his need to go shopping for deodorant,
or some other form of drivel - of course
he's not really talking to himself,
just married to his cellphone.
(too bad he doesn't talk about his sex life)

Then there's Sam walking
on the treadmill at the gym,
singing the words to a raucous song
only his earbuds can hear,
sometimes banging out the rhythm
on the machine with his hands.
(it's hard to be near him fearing he will fall)

The man who puts out the vegetables
at the grocery store talks to himself,
saying things like, nice color, smooth skin,
good size, nice fragrance, looks fresh
as he professionally stacks
the incoming treasures in the bins.
(tempted to walk by saying bananas suck)

My mother was of a similar persuasion,
she'd murmur phrases throughout the day
about the weather - nice outside -
or a spring flower she saw in the garden - nice color -
even the score of the Dodger game last night,
she never seemed bothered about,
not getting a response.
(wish Hoffman would learn how to pitch)

Our dog barks for no reason
discernable by any of us, sometimes just
a single yap, other times a sustained series
of yowls or just a low guttural growl.
We suspect he's tired of just sleeping
on the coach and being ignored.
(despite his yamerings, he's still ignored)

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