I get water in my legs. It comes from sitting too long at the computer when I should be lying down with my feet up higher than my heart.
To help control this malady, I take diaretics that make me get up every hour, every night to pee. That’s when I am inspired to give myself a new name.
Pee-a-lot.
Discover-a-lot when giving thought to words that end in -ot or -aught or -ought.
I sleep-a-lot, then up for naught, but pee-a-lot to see-a-lot, survey life’s lot, when time has come to rot in grave’s deep cot.
I fought for life, and so I got a worthwhile lot, long ago.
Now I hope they bury me face down, so I can crawl my way through earth’s hot belly to China.
Ashes to ashes. That’s what I got.
I smoked some pot but all I got was surreal thoughts that bought me short escape from aging’s rape that took from me what I did not want to give.
It took my eyes and gave me glasses.
It took my ears and gave me hearing aids.
It took my teeth and gave me dental plates.
It took my touch and left me numb.
It gave me a stick to walk.
It left me my tongue to talk.
But the rape was halted midstream.
I have to now give thought to the time I bought on the doctor’s cot, her probes and pills, extensive bills, were not what I thought would buy me immortality.
I dream a lot, then pee a lot, three pees to go before dawn.
I think a lot and see a lot in darkness of night.
I hope that for what I fought will come out right.