WHACK-A-MOLE

I once was young, but now am old;
My skin hangs off my face in folds.
The old libido's growing cold,
And I see Doctor Whack-a-Mole.

This nasty physical assault
Is, truthfully, my own darn fault.
I should have known just when to halt.
Now I see Doctor Whack-a-Mole.

I loved the sun and summer fun;

I'd tan my skin till it was done.
But dots and spots their course have run,
So I see Doctor Whack-a-Mole.

A freeze-off here, a snip-off there,
Until my skin is clean and fair,
With tiny bandaids everywhere
From good old Doctor Whack-a-Mole.

Some biopsies may be required;
On such occasions, I've perspired,
Until results had been inquired
Of dear old Doctor Whack-a-Mole.

And still I crave a sunny spot
To lounge and laze, do diddly-squat,
Although I'm sure, like it or not,
I'll soon see Doctor Whack-a-Mole.

If you are one who loves the sun,
Be careful; here's the 4-1-1:
Rub on the sunscreen; use a ton.
Or you'll see Doctor Whack-a-Mole.

That's my take on aging. At least, that's the face-value of the accruing years.

Whether we enjoy the sun or not, before we know it, we begin sprouting and sporting additional facial features. Elsewhere, we may uncover unknown appendages and characteristics as well.

Do not be alarmed! Just pick up the phone, and call my friend, Dr. Whack-a-Mole!

Learn more about this author, Linda Ann Nickerson.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

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