Whew!
Glad I live here,
And not there.

A milestone of life
Was marked last week:
     I wasn't hit
     I aged one week
So, nothing really,
So to speak.
But
In my right ear
Came a humming,
Caused by nothing
     (and this sounds funny)
Yet, the sound is something
Ringing in my ear.
     (but really, more like a humming)
I find solace,
When alone and thinking,
The sound I hear,
Louder than blinking
     (which isn't funny)
Assures me that
My motor's running.

I'm at times just like a crow,
And I see what you don't know.
There preening in the early dawn,
You hear my caw when your light turns on.
I watch you rake your yellow lawn,
I hear you cry when you hear your song,
As your long and lonely days drag on.
Like wings I'll wrap my arms about you,
I'll never fly again without you.

Orange man, you like to kneel down,
I said, Orange man, you shine like a clown,
I said, Orange man, you smile with a frown,
There's no need to be unhappy.

Orange man, there's a place you can go,
I said, Orange man, it's your rodeo,
You can stay there, with those of your ilk
Who tweets lies, cheats, bleats and bilks...

You can stay at the F.B.O.P
You're barred at the F.B.O.P.

They have everything for old men to enjoy
You can hang out with all the boys...

You'll have fun at the F.B.O.P.
You'll stay long at the F. B. O. P.

You can shower with men,
You can measure and pretend,
You can grove and bend..

You'll have fun at the F.B.O.P.
You'll stay long at the F.B.O.P.

You'll have everything for old men to enjoy,
You can shower and dance with boys...

I said, Orange man...

He's senile, incoherent,
Out of shape,
Out of date.
He tips forward
Cause he blows back wind,
And when he mugs
He waddles his chin.
He smiles and squints
Those beady swine eyes,
Above his lantern-like
Satanic grin.
And it's never about you,
When it's always about him.

Flies follow his brimstone smell,
Like sulphur leaked
From the gates of hell.
The vermin covet
His dependable fill
From a shart attack
While he's standing still.

He's a fake from the toe lifts,
That stop forward tipping;
As fake as orange highlights,
And his mental slippings,
He's glued a fake coif of  fluff,
And, if that's still not enough,
He spews lies,
Framed by his wee hands flailing,
His fetid breath exhaling,
Pouty lips wailing,
And his fat *** trailing
Far behind.

The upper branches
Of the Family Tree
Are visible.
I'm not near the base
Where I used to be.

There are fewer branches above;
And as I move there's
More and less to love.

Some limbs above have broken,
Suffered drought and heat
Through the elements of life.
But the trunk is true, strong,
Stalwart and flexible
As the lineage of its rings,
These expanding circles of life.
And above,
The transplanted branches
Were rooted with love.
Sprouts apppear below,
As further up I go.
And my limbs
Are moving slow.