Ageing Process, by Jane Shaer

Have you ever looked in the mirror to reflect 
Your age
And noticed that cellulite and wrinkles have taken centre stage?
It's then you wonder to yourself
How old should I be?
What sort of a body is this to be given me?

Have you noticed the hair upon your head Is starting to thin out
When the roots underneath are turning White and suddenly beginning to sprout?
It's then you wonder to yourself
Am I really OK?
Why not have a wig when prematurely grey?

Have you ever been to the dentist and while
Lying in the chair
He's fitting you with a crown
And you gaze up his nose in despair?
It's then you wonder to yourself
This guy's a nice enough chap.
But I only wish he'd finish off
Bridging that gap.

Have you ever been to the doctor to get a Jab for the flu
And asked him time and time again
Can I make love to you?
It's then you wonder to yourself
If my senility's on par.
Why not have a man aswell
When I have a crush on my car?

Have you ever had a Garam or Tika Masala
From an Indian takeaway
Not realising the affects it has on you
For many a day?
It's then you wonder to yourself
If this stuff is going to keep on passing Through.
How much longer must I spend VINDALOO?

Senior Sonnet Shakespeare Style by Betty Taylor

My body wilts despite the good I did–
The Brussels sprouts and suchlike I took in.
Now bunioned bones bring anguish to my feet,
Yet old appendix scar still looks quite neat.
My hip holds out now that it has a pin
And gallstones gleam within their clear glass jar.
Son phones, “Hi Ma, just wondering where you are,
The weather’s cold don’t stay outside too long.”
They fret, I know my irritation’s wrong–
Unanswered phone calls set them in a spin.
Exciting moments now a dwindling few,
Forgetfulness exhausts the will to live.

I smirk sardonically, my mood is blue,
As addled brain now morphs, becomes a sieve.

Betty Taylor confesses to habitual scribbling.  She is a founder member of her local writers’ group encouraging aspiring writers for 30-plus years.  As her dotage looms she is aware that  no six-figure publishing offer is coming her way, therefore a daily blog bears the brunt of her drivel.  She edits her writers’ group website and messes about on her beloved laptop to fill her days.



If I Were Suddenly Twenty Years Younger by Peter Higgins

If I were suddenly twenty years younger
Yes, at first it would be a bit weird
I’d ask myself – why this new hunger
To grow a lumberjack’s beard?

But I’m sure I’d soon get the hang of it
I’d be a good little hipster indeed
I’d eat pulled pork in artisan pop-ups
Ride a bike with only one speed

I’d tweet selfies from the roof-tops of Peckham
Though haters might mock me and sneer
I’d come up with an app to sell you some crap
I’d micro-brew a craft beer

But alas I am twenty years older
And thus far too old for that shit
Instead I have Midsomer Murders
And a pain in one knee when I sit.

Peter Higgins was born in Yorkshire and now lives in London.  His short stories have appeared in various anthologies and magazines, and he appears regularly at LondonVille Lit (South London’s finest spoken-word event).