Oh Fudge!

When I am old,

I shall fudge.

I’ll be like my mother

And wear leather gloves

To protect my tissue papered

Hands and I too will do things

Like hoist a heavy hide-a -bed 

Up the stairs,

I’ll also  rototill the garden with a

Giant machine that chews into the earth

And needs a monstrous heave to dislodge,

Taking off with me in tow.

My gloves will protect my skin when i do things like

Haul fifty pound chunks of metal 

To the metal pile.

And the gloves will keep my brittle nails

Semi-clean so I can have tea with the ladies,

Just before I shingle the rooftop.

Age be damned,

I’m not going down.

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