Mike Bell/ December 3, 2015/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

I have now reached
My ‘pocket-patting phase’,
A lost time of life,
Pre-empting old age:
Locating keys, or glasses,
With ‘the pat’,
Of every pocket-lump,
Until quite flat.
I will stand
At my standing desk (it and me),
Attempting to re-locate,
By ‘pattery’,
A fix on reading glasses,
(me not them),
Only to find them
‘Foreheaded’ again.
To avoid pat-problems
(locating specs),
I’ve invested wisely,
no pat-reflex:
I now hang glasses
from optical-string,
An ancient answer
To the ‘patting’ thing.
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