Next in line for Dead

I’m next in line for dead. All I have to do is look at my neck and my kids and I see what’s happening. My neck is now visually assaulting as the last chicken I saw squawking around the barnyard. Maybe it should be turkey, that’s much more rude in looks.
The kids aren’t kids any longer although they tend to act as such, the numbers don’t lie and the calenders really don’t either. What else is there? Let’s see, I’m fifty something and in twenty years..well you do the math, it isn’t as promising as it was when I was thirty and it was on the downside to scarey, but heck, I’m living scarey now. I want to be honest and real about this to myself, seems I always ignore the matter of fact and hopefully it’ll go away, but not so. This is inevitable. I realize there are ways around chicken neck, the advantage being plastic on the surgery table and in the wallet, but brass tacks tells me I have a clock and it ain’t lying. Nip, tuck, pull, yank ,diet, walk, and bottom line, Gods clock. So I suppose I could live until hell freezes over but that’s very doubtful. We don’t live as long as Moses and Sarah used to and we need to face facts when you’re kids start looking like you still remember you used to then it is time to hang up the glitter shorts and classic rock albums and oil the chair, if you like or rev up the subscription to AARP and get ready. You are on the downside, the downlow, the on your way out. Or, you are next in line for dead.