New Classic Poems – Contemporary Verse That Rhymes

New Classic Poems
Then and Now
The Plot
Bob Stampe
I've come to notice lately that around me things have changed.
I'm not sure when it happened, but I find it very strange
that every time I take a walk, it's uphill all the way,
and seems to be much farther than it was just yesterday.
They're building stairways steeper now than those they used to build.
My groceries seem much heavier, though bags are but half-filled.
And someone's hiding things of mine. They're always going astray.
Then strangely they show up again, within one or two days.
Why am I always stiff and sore This thing I can't explain.
Perhaps the kinds of food I eat are causing me this pain
Or maybe it's the water, full of chemicals and stuff
I'm taking twenty pills a day. Maybe that's not enough
You know the collar labels that are sewn inside our shirts
Well, mine now all read size eighteen. The truth of it sure hurts.
A fifteen would still fit my neck, however I must face
the fact that it would never fit around my bulging waist.
I've always been a stubborn sort. I don't always conform,
but now I'm more congenial, or so I am informed.
Not true. My nodding head is not a sign that I agree.
My glasses have five lenses, and I'm scanning just to see.
Why do some people drive so fast You know just yesterday,
I looked into my rear view mirror as I joined the freeway.
With honking horns, and screeching brakes, cars swerved to change their lanes.
You're risking life and limb these days. The world has gone insane.
Seems bathroom scales are being made with much less quality.
I don't believe the number on the dial that I see.
I'd call the factory if I could, and tell them what I think,
but I can't read the phone book with its tiny printed ink.
Most people seem much younger than I was when at their age.
I'm sure that I was more mature when I was at that stage.
Yet, friends of mine who've always been the same age as I am,
seem older now, and frailer; some no longer give a damn.
I saw an old friend just last week. She'd aged, her pallor grey.
She did not recognize me, and she looked the other way.
This morning as I washed my face, the mirror looked back at me.
Seems mirrors are not being made the way they used to be.
I think I know what's happening. I've got it figured out.
There's not too much that I can do. Of that I have no doubt.
Long life has schemed against me; a conspiracy; a plot.
It beats the other option though, so I don't want it stopped.
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