My Old Friends

Lately I look like a car with a dent,
whose get up and go just got up and went.

My parts behave badly whenever they like,
and some even threaten to go out on strike.

My nose goes before me, massive and proud,
knowing it always stands out in a crowd.

My mouth in the morning smells like a shoe.
My tongue wears a coat while wagging on cue.

My eyes have to squint to see what I say.
My ears are antennas that get in the way.

My teeth are bright stars that come out at night.
My hair gets so scared when I turn out the light.

My neck is a string bean down under this chin.
My skin doesn’t know the shape that it’s in.

My chest is no treasure, not hairy or wide.
It’s more like a flat tire along for the ride.

My arms hang down like a pair of wet socks.
My fingers have knuckles like small hairy rocks.

My knees are knocking, they want to come in,
while my back is just waiting to go out again.

My legs bow out like thin willow trees
that shiver and shake whenever I sneeze.

My spine does its best to keep me in line.
My stomach makes noises whenever I dine.

My feet don’t know if they’re coming or going.
My body does things with me never knowing.

My rear end is getting too big for its britches,
my toes, so crooked they look like small witches.

My mind has a habit of showing up late,
and everything else is way out of date.

But we’re still best friends through all stops and starts,
because this thing called “Me” won’t run without parts.