by Sandra Lee S.
“Getting old is not for sissies!” Bette Davis one time said.
At least, I do believe--I think--perhaps--that’s what I read.
My mind’s a little fuzzy with information overload,
Sometimes there’s so much to recall, I think I might explode.
I wonder when the liver spots appeared on both my arms?
And when did men no longer rave about my girlish charms?
When first were there these crows’ feet crinkling round my hazel eyes?
And since I got a brow-lift, why do I always look surprised?
My chin’s no longer firm, in fact, there’s two instead of one,
And I slather on the SPF when going out in the sun,
I wear those panty-liners for my overworked old bladder,
And have to watch my diet so I don’t get any fatter.
My legs, once long and tan and sleek, now look like some old map-
With swollen blue lines everywhere, --and what happened to my lap?
I’ve had hip and knee replacements, I’ve got hardware in my back,
What hasn’t been replaced by now is surely out of whack.
My hair, once thick and curly, now barely caps my head.
I think it may be time for me to wear a hat, instead.
For the most part, I don’t really mind, I think it’s kind of nifty
When people say that I don’t look --the least bit over sixty!
--Sandra Lee Smith
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