He is 100 and five spends his time in bed, his family
comes up to his room and cleans him up, he is windy
and it smells like a Chinese egg buried underground
for fifty years. And to think Chinese eggs are supposed
to be a delicatessen eaten only by the rich.
He can’t read anymore but likes to look at pornographic
pictures which make him cackle as it triggers off
a memory of a distant past.
He was never a paragon of virtue, smoked and drank,
a brutal criminal who spent much time in prison.
All this is now forgotten by his family, although they think
he is disgusting, want him to be in the Guinness book
of records as the longest living man.
