In a Pickle

I’m often in a pickle,

And I don’t mean onions or dill,

I mean I get all flustered,

To the point I feel quite ill,

So I can’t tell down from struggle,

By which I mean uphill.

It’s something to do with getting

Older than I used to be,

And having Senior Moments,

When before they wouldn’t be,

Like stupidly forgetting

To put sugar in my tea.

I do like a couple of lumps,

Even though my pulse-rate jumps.

The tea tastes so much sweeter,

Even though it means I teeter,

On the brink of diabeter!