The letter came from the Doctor,

stamped, addressed formally,

an oddness to the finality they were offering me,

welcoming me with open arms

to attend a special clinic

for those entering

the next demographic,

that of the adventure

of terrible middle age.

 

No longer to be considered a young man,

I’m now just a few years shy

of receiving a free gift

from Michael Parkinson.

 

I can be checked for diabetes,

having had myself tested every year,

to assess the risk of impending