BINGO

 Life's Dauber . . .

Birth is the moment you grab your first card,
Cryin’ and kickin’, already on guard.
Nurses all whisper, “He’s ready to play,”
You drool on the board; it’s bingo, your way!

Income and taxes, the middle-aged phase,
Matching the letters through a caffeine-filled haze.
Your boss yells, “Report!” You just want to scream,
But secretly, hope for that free space to dream.

Naps become sacred, your joints start to squeak,
You shout, "Forty-four!" but it’s B-52 week.
At potlucks and church halls, you fight for the win,
While dropping your daubers and laughing with kin.

Granny's a hustler with her cards and more,
She flirts with old Joe, then hollers out, “Score!”
She’s got five in a row and winks with a grin,
“I’ve played with the best for this chance to win!”

Over the years, we all chase the same prize,
Through heartbreaks and hiccups and widening thighs.
But life’s not so bad with a number in tow,
A card full of memories, row after row...

BINGO