Clockwork regular,
stealing onwards nightly,
conferring Faustian favours
of deadly discontent.
Slipping by swiftly
from wingéd chariot,
the one-way arrow
      of the Old Disease.

Detritus dermatology
best beguiled by Botox,
baby-bottom potions
caressing calloused curves.
Skin-deep remedies,
smoothing ever vainly
in cosmetic delusion
      about the Old Disease

Gymnastic exertion
toning and honing,
muscling in on wasting,
wasting all the time.
Body parts rebelling with
over-stretched cramping,
knuckles gnarling
      at the Old Disease

Shrunken horizons
now foreshortened,
yesterday’s achievements
blurred to indistinction.
Darkening of days as
memory turns inwards,
with quiet capitulation
      to the Old Disease.