I used to watch my Mom and Dad,
At lovely restaurants, years ago;
Spill a little bit of food
On their “dine out” clothes, ergo
I was embarrassed.
Lately, with a group of friends
While eating out on Saturdays
I notice, with utmost chagrin,
I spill, like they, in latter days;
I am embarrassed.
Heredity’s a funny thing
I’m following their path, I guess
But if my folks are looking down
They understand, they have largesse –-
They’re not embarrassed.
Aging is a humbling thing
But I’ve decided it is also
Senseless, as the saying goes
To sweat the small stuff, so-o-o
Why be embarrassed?
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| Writing Prompt |
Please write a porm of any type that addresses growing old. |
Author Notes
I'm not really a slob, but sometimes....
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