Nobody mentioned wrinkles on your ears, or a nose that runs

Every time you eat, walk, bend over. In fact, all the time.

Nobody said that your chin would vanish as your skin pools around your neck, 

Or that your lips would become invisible and that they’d stretch 

Uncomfortably when you smile.

Nobody talked about your eyesight taking a nosedive, words now so teeny tiny, 

You need longer arms just to see them.

And those arms, well nobody mentioned they’d become flabby. 

Or that you’d lose your waist. Or your boobs would droop.

 Or your thighs would become two sad, deflated ballons. 

Where does the muscle actually go? Definitely nowhere on my body.

And worse. How many times did you go to the loo last night?

And piles. Don’t mention those.

And memory loss. Where are my words? What was I saying? 

Nobody mentioned that.

Nobody mentioned leisurely mornings, no more commuting, no rat race.

Instead, you’ve joined the volunteer army and England needs you.

Sunday evenings Monty Don and Countryfile, a phone call from your offspring

if you’re lucky. Sorry can’t do that, I’m just so busy Mum. 

They’re living the life you’ve left behind. 

Nobody mentioned that sliding into the autumn of your life would be like this.

Nobody said you’d scrutinise the elderly deciding which sort you’re going to be. 

Sprightly and yoga fit at eighty?

In a mobility scooter at seventy? Or dead.

I know what I’m aiming at. 

And nobody mentioned that.