Arthritis and the Golfer Poem

It hurts on the back swing, it hurts when I bend
I'm stiff as a board when the flag I attend.

So I went to the Doc with a list a mile long
He said not to worry, I was one of a throng.

My case wasn't special, my symptoms not rare
As he poked and he probed, all my secrets laid bare.

There are hundreds of cases of arthritis he stated
And the type that I have, is much over rated.

So he seemed to lose interest in my case right away
And he waddled and staggered as he wandered away.

His nurse said he had choked on the very first tee
He had swallowed on a divot, she confided to me.

Now, how in the world was this old golfer treated?
All these expensive drugs will just be excreted.

But in pain I continue, though my affliction is plain
I notice it most when I'm out in the rain.

My golf swing is spastic when I try to swing loose
My shoulders don't seem to catch my caboose.

There must be alternatives to turning so stiff
But with THAT considered, I feel just terriff!

I'm feeling less pain as I gawk at each girl
If they are clairvoyant, their hair will uncurl.

While out on the course and a cute babe walks by
I suck in my gut and try to look spry.

So, arthritis or not, in my heart I'm a stud
But the babes that I ogle, they see Elmer Fudd.

The pain is subsiding as I stare at each peach
But with a sore back, they are all out of reach.