Lost Youth

by kiwisteveh

Synapses getting lapses?
     Exercise 'em.
Brood got a 'tude?
     Chastise 'em.

Prob wit' your mob?
     Disinherit.
No show that you know
     Got merit?

Bones causing groans?
     Hear 'em creaking.
Pain like your brain
     May be leaking?

Young folk a joke,
    Music blaring.
Crazy hats and those tats
     They're all wearing.

Lost specs a hex?
     Attach 'em
Pursuit of the cute?
     Can't catch 'em.

In hock to your doc?
     Try suing.
Oh, please, MPs
     What you doing?

Pee frequently?
     Tie a knot in it.
Can't read what your feed
     Has got in it.

Sprinkle when you tinkle?
     Aim straighter.
Can't recall sex at all?
     A spectator.

Bed at eight seems late,
     Seven's better.
Old flame, whatsername?
     Forget 'er.

A pox on the box
     Not worth viewing.
Can't tell what the hell
     They are doing.

Lost youth it's the truth
     Can't defy it.
Don't rage at your age
     Just deny it.

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Recognized

A dipstych (pronounced 'DIP-Stick') is developed from an ancient Mongolian verse form practised by yak-herders in the frozen wastes of outer Mongolia to while away the boredom of long, bitter winters. The classic work begins:
's a fac', my yak
He is stronger.
His coat, take a vote.
Is longer.

The dipstych has a variable number of four line stanzas. The first line must contain an internal rhyme, while each quatrain rhymes abcb
Another feature of the form is the extremely short line, the shorter the better, and the use of colloquial language and street slang.

This poem is my own personal gauge to assess that perennial question, 'Am I getting old?'
If you chuckled (or winced) at more than two of the stanzas, you are definitely senior citizen status and this bonus verse is just for you:
Antique, feeling weak,
Getting sickly?
Have fun, spend your mon,
Really quickly!

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A dipstych (see author's notes)

Lost Youth

by kiwisteveh

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