“Take your marks. Get set,” cried the starter
Then his pistol shot rang through the air
They were off and away in an instant
Burning rubber from every wheelchair
To get her chubby hands on the trophy
Was what drove every one of them on
For the annual retirement home sports day
Was where Faye and her team really shone.
The first baton change went very smoothly
But not so for change number two
When Carrie who should have been waiting
Had just slipped away to the loo
She was back in a matter of moments
Her bloomers still down to her knees
But she wrestled the baton from Andie
And set off, enjoying the breeze.
At the final change Maryanne waited
To make the last dash to the line
Her chair was a sleek racing model
But its driver had been at the wine
The crowd, they were cheering and yelling
“Come on fatties, we know you can win it”
But when Maryanne’s chair crossed the finish line first
The lady was no longer in it.
For the home straight had proved her undoing
Though the crowd they were willing her on
A spectator’s walking stick caught in her spokes
And tipped Madam out on her scone
She was sprawled up side down on the race track
Her expression a sight to behold
If the contest had been for foul language
She’d have certainly taken the gold.
She was way out in front when she lost it
Now she wiped tears and sweat from her face
While competitors piled up behind her
And her wheel chair continued the race.
I tell you, my friends, it was mayhem
Hand crocheted knee rugs were tossed
Hearing aids, dentures, incontinence pads,
And good reputations, all lost.
So the trophy cabinet’s empty
At the home for aged realwomen
That leaves plenty of space for the silverware
When, come summer, we beat ‘em at swimmin.’
Copyright 2007. All Rights Reserved.