Mortality / Schmortality
Third person me
She walks with the confidence
Of a big-breasted woman
35 a dim echo as its double approaches
No long gray tresses here,
But short, sharp spikes
For the divine connection.
Thick around her center
Undefined by Twiggy-standards
A short, Italian fireplug of female
Passions wrapped in brain & heart;
Sharp-tongued, less than tolerant…
Strong hands, a wrinkly smile
Entering her eyes first.
She’s tasted risk & lived on love
Fearless, present; a solid woman
Ready for the next act
The third trimester of
Maiden, mother, crone.
Long after youth has fled the parade
Life lengthens beyond
An unerring arrival (never expected)
It takes up residence
In spots, in strangely-shaped vein whorls.
It’s a celebration & a culmination
A triumph & a terror –
Not that it will end poorly,
But that it may not be well-accomplished.
The Divine Miss B
Age is the last factor of life
Positive on the balance sheet
But only after you’ve gotten past
All other negotiations.
At first, it was a nuisance
I asked for laugh wrinkles, but this?
The 50’s slipped by
The 60’s kind of danced along
Now, here I stand at 70:
The threshold of being Born Again
Having it finally, my way.
Being able to ignore the life-beast
Or take it to bed,
Suck it dry:
I rise triumphant!
My birthday hides in September
I have tried, am trying, to pay my debts
To be faithful to the oligarchs
Who file their nails at my door
Yawning as they await their monthly checks.
I have a Final Solution for you all…
It might be the best payment I can come up with…
When I am dead, someone scatter my ashes
In front of the banks.