I’m getting on, I cannot see
the trifling type in front of me,
My hip it aches, my arches sore
I do not know me anymore.
The parts of me that once were youth
Are now replaced with missing tooth.
My bosom that ‘fore sought the sky
Now looks upon a dappled thigh.
Words and thoughts for which I aim
are gone, abandoned, lost, unclaimed.
My moods they soar from top to bottom;
Regrets and qualms I surely got ‘em.
Is that a line, a crack I see?
To hell with aging gracefully.
- Lisa Goich