My eyes no longer work too well…
I cannot read small print;
I don’t know where my glasses are
And always have to squint.
My hands, of course, are even worse,
My fingers ache and swell,
Arthritis, past its sell-by date,
Is putting them through hell.
Now factor in an RSI,
Because I type too much,
Then add a dodgy back and stuff…
I wince with every touch.
And so to get some small relief
To bottles, I retreat,
Not gin, though with the child-proof caps
On pills, I’d drink it neat!
When they proof the pots for kids,
‘Cause when your hands are playing up,
You can’t take off the lids.
Though some pills come all wrapped in foil
That’s fine and dandy, but…
As soon as you begin to rip
The stuff, you end up cut.
So, reaching for the first aid kit
You rummage for…
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