TWO CAREERS

It is so grand to be retired like the two of us.

No one cares if we rant some, and then fuss.

You can write a book, whittle a mill and a puddle piddle.

I can pen an original poem, wit-a-little, and then dribble.

But anything useful that we ever did.

Our lights, under a bushel we hid.

You, a plastic surgeon honing your skills with botex,

I, advocating in a convoluted and legalistic context.

You, a sculptor of the Roman nose and sensuous hips,

I, a courtroom gunfighter shooting from both of my lips.

You expanded the female chest from berries to melons,

I represented greedy losers, charlatans, and near felons.

You, making the current Miss Dracula look hot and cute,

And I, bringing to court her most recent alimony suit.

And thusly it proceeded for this professional pair

Until both of us finally lost most of our hair.

Now neither of us are working anywhere.

As you tired of it all and I ran out of hot air.

Finally, in retired status, we can get down to our very own biz,

Including, if nature so calls, to take a timely and a gentle whiz,

And then we'll roll up our sleeves and forget all this crap

By jumping into the sack for our late afternoon nap.