Lately I must renew my driving licence
but always receive my TV licence free.
I get the government winter fuel payment
and a buss pass that's invaluable to me.

I don't now need to look for paid employment
(I get more money from my pensions than I spend)
so I could pass my time in full enjoyment
before my life's inevitable end.

But life needs satisfaction as well as pleasure
and helping plants grow does fill up the daytime
while leaving the evenings free for ample leisure
with various choices for my adult playtime.

Except for nature, sport and a couple of quiz shows
I've almost given up watching live TV,
preferring music to dispel my mood lows
as more effective than stand-up comedy.

I really love the 'classic' catchy pop songs,
those filtered as the best from sixty years
of musical composition which well belongs
among the cultural triumphs of my peers.

So I frequent the local clubs and bar halls
that play the sort of music that I like
without the probability of bar brawls
or an egocentric oaf that hogs the mike.

Sometimes the bouncer checking ID at the door
looks at my licence and belches with surprise
since he hasn't yet seen me take the dance floor
pretending to be a youngster in disguise.

But I have a net of wrinkles on my face;
my jowls droop from sunken cheeks to chin;
my uncut hair's a probable disgrace;
my un-ironed body has drapes of sagging skin.

And yet I can't stop thinking I'm attractive
(if only girls wouldn't judge the book by the cover)
though I don't aspire to anything seductive;
I have no fantasies of being a lover.

But I love the vitality of female butterflies
dancing to the rhythm of the music
while around them buzz the male hoverflies
well on their way to being booze sick.

The woman beside me queueing at the bar,
looking like a tourist, at last is bold
enough to ask "Please, how old you are?"
and smiles at my standard reply "Too old."

But too glib really; really just a pup;
still young at heart; but lacking potency!
Perhaps it's time to hang my slippers up
as superhero - Teenage OAP.