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~* Carving the cadaver *~


Called in for a medical!


a poem by Stefan Lewis-Fish

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Called for a medical.

Will my body lie?

"Just the same old honesty!"

Came the bitter cry.



No point in hiding.

The truth is plain to see.

Some are past their sell by date,

And that now includes me.



The writing's on the wall.

The end is clearly nigh.

The moving finger's writ.

And it's time to say goodbye.



And so, to bite the bullet.

More clichés will unfold.

This is a game, for the young,

You're clearly, far too old,



So, go now, gracefully,

Don't embarrass all your friends,

We'll make it nice and gentle,

The means justify the ends,



Break out the parting glass,

The retirement shindig's smile,

Gone, but not forgotten,

The presents in a pile,



"But, what, about my record?

The good times hardly faded",

"I'm sorry sunshine, your race is run,

Your past is totally jaded."



"So listen, young Turks rising fast,

Make whoopee whilst you may,

My, absolutely, final comment,

Is, I once had my day..."



Stefan Lewis-Fish
(19 January 1999)