Old Codgers Reunited

75, not out. This calls for celebration:
the class of ’35 has reached a milestone.
How many will respond to the invitation?
I wouldn’t want to be drinking alone.

No danger of that; I can see my pal Tom
who’s travelled many miles to be with us.
He lives in Australia and yet he’s still a Pom
to the natives, but he doesn’t like to fuss.

What a nice surprise, here comes lovely Trish
who used to drink all the men under the table.
She was a glamour puss but also a cold fish;
(only one got in her knickers, that was Abel).

Sadly, he is unable to be present at the event
being, she says, much indisposed and infirm.
She adds that her poor fellow is in torment
because his handshakes are no longer firm.

The number of attendees is now twenty-five
but some of them are hard to recognise.
So I can’t determine who’s dead or alive
and I am left in the dark trying to surmise.

We all drink to our bosom pals’ health
but for the unlucky Vincent alcohol is out;
having managed to accumulate great wealth
he developed, imbibing port, a touch of gout.

We may be old codgers but we live in hope.
We have escaped deprivation and penury
and our only concern is how well we'll cope
when we are hundred and prone to injury.

© Luigi Pagano 2010