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

Description: Rubenesque

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.

 

Age Happens

Long after youth has fled the parade

Life lengthens beyond

Childhood

Adolescence

Adulthood

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?

Ridiculous!

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.