[Editor’s Note: “Writing poetry,” our friend, the retired academic Janet Hoult , tell us, “has become my way of dealing with the aging process. Although not in the order I wrote them, I decided to organize these “Body Parts” poems, beginning with a wistful sense of regret, continuing with what happens to our bodies and minds, realistically and humorously from top to bottom, ending with some upbeat thoughts.” A new selection from “Body Parts” will run each day until, of course, we run out of Body Parts.]
Anymore
I used to move and dance with ease
Now all I seem to do is wheeze
With any effort made at all
I’m sure I’m going to take a fall.
Just can’t bend over anymore
It makes me sore to touch the floor.
Hand me my grabber, if you please
and then I needn’t bend my knees.
That grabber helps me get around
And pick up stuff off of the ground
Stuff that I much too often drop…
I guess I’ll never ever stop
trying to do things I’ve always done
Yet having a problem with ‘most every one
See, I can’t reach that high shelf
I think that I’m just not myself
Anymore
Janet Hoult lives in Sunkist Park with her husband Charlie. She can be reached at HOULTight@aol.com.
