Bills are bad enough but some mail you just don’t want.
If I ever need reminding that I’m aging every day
All I need to do is see what mail has come my way.
Instead of getting ads for hunting deer and moose or bear
I’m overwhelmed with pleas to buy a motorized wheelchair.
What happened to the brochures for the Charles Atlas plan
Or other ways to build my body up like a ladies’ man?
In their place my trash can fills with catalogs from those
Who want to sell me hearing aids and orthopedic hose.
Yesterday I got a postcard just filled with information.
Why be buried in the ground? Save money with cremation.
Better yet, check this one out. This comes direct to me:
Bring friends and family with you and be buried out at sea.
If it wasn’t for the mailman I’d feel younger than I do
But geriatric merchandising puts a strain on you.
At least with Medicare and such there’s not much cost to me.
There’s the phone–my appointment for a colonoscopy.
Welcome to Authspot, the spot for creative writing.
Read some stories and poems, and be sure to subscribe to our feed!