My Deterioration (Is Proceeding Apace) By David Roth © 25 May, 2004 I’ve put on weight, I’m going gray, At least, of late, it seems that way. I see it in my aging face, My deterioration proceeds apace. It does no good to pout and whine, About each little ‘smile’ line, As steady as an ocean wave I march toward the waiting grave. A little ache, a tiny pain, Arthritis acting up again, And longer arms, it seems I need, My favorite book to sit and read. Now what was that you said, my dear? (At times, it’s such a strain to hear). Where once I stood so bold and tall, I think I’ve shrunk, my clothes seem small. Where men of valor once sought me, I now bounce children on my knee. In times long gone, long nights I’d keep, I think now I’d just rather sleep. A warrior brave, a champion bold, I was before I got so old. At least I think I was, you know, But memory seems to come and go. So when you ask me how I’ve been, I answer with a senile grin: I’m aging with a certain grace, But my deterioration proceeds apace.