Two Poems by Bill Hanna

The Waiting Room

Nine old men
Waiting for the doc
And one of those old men
Is me!

Maybe some day soon
There will be only eight
One by one we’ll disappear
We must obey our fate.

What am I to do?

My body feels like ninety,
My brain’s like thirty-two.
When one outlives the other,
What am I to do?

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