What Happens When It's My Turn?

Having turned fifty-seven this week;
Hope of retirement in eight years seems bleak.
Thinking of losing my income somehow;
Is much too scary to think of just now.
To think of not having two jobs but just one
Is a dream a long time in my future to come.
For if I step down from my duties to care
Who would assume the role that I bear?
Who would be there to scratch his frequent itch?
Or to set up the peddler when his leg starts to twitch?
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