Middle Aged Men on the Scrapheap of Life. 
You can smirk
Ok I don’t dress the best, I never have
So what?
Not much of a catch then?
Maybe you’re right and thank you for thinking it.
I’m sorry I wont be able to provide you with security.
I appear lost in my own mind and I can’t find my way out.
Ok Ok! Look there’s no need to shout.
I try not to look like a victim but everywhere has become younger and fitter.
While I just sit here.
I can’t seem to get out
of the Maze of Middle Age.
Old Age and Death remain.
Not much solace that.
I could pretend to be younger and wear skinny jeans
Go to the theatre and talk a load of shite
I might as well strip naked, go fly a kite.
My paunch hangs down over my bollocks
My nasal hair it doth run free
I can’t seem to hide from the world, even behind this tree.
Cos next door’s yapping dog will find me and raise its crooked leg
I’m at that age where you start to beg
to be noticed on twitter for your grumpy ways.
Pithy and near the knuckle tweets aren’t always what they says.
I’m meandering now and losing my train of thought.
I pretend not to care when I forget the last thing that I bought.
Be young, be careless be fancy free.
Because one day that bastard dog will be cocking its leg on you behind the tree.