My parts are wearing out,
The joints crackle and creak a bit,
Sounding as rusting door hinges,
Squeaking or aching or both at once.
The knees are the most vociferous,
The two old hounds won’t hunt,
Though, they do incessantly bark,
A constant mellow resonant growl,
Protesting, but not too loudly.
Their desire, not running anymore,
A connoisseur’s preference to sit,
Then constantly grumbling about sitting.
Saggy eared weather prognosticators,
Craving a warm fire in winter,
Then a soothing ice pack in summer.
So, I force them to take a daily walk,
Just so they will not become too lazy,
Lazy and fat and cantankerous.
These old dogs are trusted friends,
They have known my every step,
Every love, pain, disappointment and, vice.
At times I have been unkind to them,
Banging them through life, but
They persist, tagging along.
I am grateful for their attention.
Appreciative of their every scar,
Amused by their journey’s story.
And, when for the last time,
I rest upon satin sheets,
They too will lie down with me,
Trapped in an eternal slumber,
Finally, ignoring a season’s change,
Silenced to their complaints.
Together, three raggedy tramps of time,
Becoming fading fodder for the ages.
©2013, Donald Harbour