I'm a man who has never quite looked after himself.
I have gaps in me teeth & random good health,
But I'm a man at peace with ALL his pieces,
The bits that comply AND the bits with caprices.

Although some days getting old IS a bit of a puzzle.
Which leg for example is joined to which muscle?
Or which arm goes first putting my coat on?
And, how only 3 Buttons can be gotten so wrong?

Is it just me or are people talking faster?
n'When did me tripping-up become such a disaster?
Why are coins so slippery and keys so awkward?
Why aren't memories just there and I have to think backwards?

Conversation has gaps while I find the right word.
My specs covered in fingerprints make everything blurred.
Walking to the Shops finds me sat in the Park
Getting my breath back, like some O.A.P. basking Shark.

In the scheme of things not a lot bothers me greatly,
But, y'know, something WILL drop off and I haven't looked lately.
Yes, when I add it all up, it is a bit of an equation,
Still, just one more decent poem is cause for celebration.

Tommy Randell. -  25th March 2021

Palms cup
Mother-of-pearl
To the ***** laugh
Of a clean-limbed girl
Whose teeth are white
And lips as fresh
As lemon squeezed
On living flesh,
Beneath a salmon sky
As the tide slides out
And as we wash them down
With velvet stout.

Oh, pity the suits! The masterful class,
who Robin-hood traders just kicked in the ***.
Sitting high in their towers of concrete and steel
They thought naked shorts were the art of the deal.
They shorted more shares than are said to exist
So henceforth they just ought to cease and desist!
The retail investors, those dumb money fools,
Bought up call options and took them to school.
The rich lost their shorts and maybe their shirts,
They can perhaps sell their mansions and go live in yurts.
If they have some bitcoins perhaps they can sell them
But never buy shares in a hedge fund named Melvin!

I’m the first Slovenian-American to be the Sergeant at Arms
I”m the first queer Eskimo to be the Undersecretary of the Navy
I”m the first Yazidi ****** to be the head of the Post Office
I’m the first Basque-American woman to run the IRS
I’m the first hirsute anorexic at HHS

I’m no Maya Angelou, but I can speak my truth--
why have talent when you can have youth.
Diversity rules, except when you speak--
then it’s the party line, no thoughtcrime,
or your future will be bleak.

Shattered glass and a blood trail.
A dead policeman in a massive fail.
Horned-y guy waves his spear,
trying to get us to fear.
Qanon conspiracy
says Pelosi and Hillary
make pizza pies with children’s blood.
But their message is a dud
with the sane who still dominate.
A bizarro postscript in history, the fate
of the mob of deluded nobodies
who entered the Capitol with ease.
Because who would have thought...
well...it was right on 4chan, the plot.
Seems not many do their jobs
and a policeman’s killed by wacko slobs.