Elder Umbrage

Although a hundred and twenty, I am spry;
but I feel a mere fifty--don’t ask me why.
Perhaps my blessing is very good genes,
living like I’m full of Mexican beans.,

Yet I’m annoyed at the outlook of cousins
and condemnation of kin by the dozens.
Such aggravation is pause on the stage;
why should they care if I don’t act my age?

I have this vigor yet I hear them snicker;
(I drink Bud Lite although liquor is quicker.)
Judging by calendar raises my pique,
suffering through geriatric critique!

I am not doddering nor hard of hearing;
still on the holidays I catch them leering.
And if those stares set out to misbehave,
I guess they’d usher me right to the grave.

Maybe it’s envy or scrupulous query;
but incredulity makes a man weary.
So when they act like their rude is okay,
I tell them I wasn’t born yesterday.

[Rhythm: 11-11-10-10] (20 Lines)