LAMENT OF AN OLD WITCH
Take a cup of olive oil,
Bring it slowly to a boil.
Add a feather of a golden eagle,
Three fleas taken from a beagle,
Some magic crystals, finely chopped.
Cook it 'til it starts to pop.
Elephant hair & eye of newt,
I think that I'll throw in some fruit.
Pickled pig's foot, heart of lizard,
And just a teensy piece of gizzard.
A little pasta would be swell,
I'll just have to stir it well.
Oh, my stars, it's as I feared;
My memory has disappeared.
What was I brewing, a magic potion
Or dinner? I haven't the foggiest notion!
I WANT TO BE ON A TOTEM POLE
I was thinking, if I were a Seminole
I could have been on a totem pole.
Fishducky on the top with wings spread whole
And around my head an aureole.
I'd have no need for self-control.
No one could make me wash a bowl
Or have to mend a buttonhole
Or cook another casserole.
The chief would all his tribe cajole
To bow before me and see my soul.
My glory they would all extol.
Those that were sad I would console
'Til their spirits rose in a capriole.
They'd see me when they took a stroll.
I'd be on a lovely knoll
Or maybe part of a fumarole,
More splendid than a girasol.
I'd be listed on their holy scroll
And their banners they would all unroll.
This has always been my goal.
Save me from your vitriol
Because it was just my luck,
Instead of an eagle, to be born a duck!
GOODBYE, LEFT BREAST (ODE TO A MASTECTOMY)
I just thought I’d like to say goodbye
As you go to that medical waste disposal in the sky.
Say hi to my tonsils and have no fears.
We’ll all get back together in a few years.
You’ve known me the seventy-nine years of my life.
You saw me as a teen, and then a wife.
Your first job was attracting men
And next you were a breastaurant for my children.
When the doors of the milkbar finally closed
You went back to a purely decorative mode.
Which was fine, until last week
When you (and other parts) became antique.
I no longer attract young men of twenty,
But that’s all right, because I’ve had plenty.
And as for that other use, well, we all know
The odds of me nursing again are low.
But it’s in my nature to be a little sappy,
And with or without you I’ll keep on being happy.
Most would count this a loss when it comes to my score.
Will I miss you? A little. Do I need you? No more!
I will be losing some symmetry,
On this I think we can both agree.
I may tilt to one side as I walk through town
But I’ll try to adjust and not fall down.
Yet I’m not through having fun
And lifting my face to the warmth of the sun.
And being with friends and laughing (I’ll show you)
So ta ta, left tata, it was nice to know you!
AN ODE TO BEING SEVENTY-THREE
My legs are sore. I need a cane.
My body has gone quite insane.
My breasts were perky as a song.
My bra size now is 40-Long.
I cannot hear. I cannot see.
I have to pee. Oh, woe is me!
My body’s fat. My skin is thin.
I do not like the shape I’m in.
I cough–I cough until I choke.
I’m going out to have a smoke.
My bones are brittle, I fear my fate.
I’m liable to disintegrate.
My memory now seems to have gone.
Who is that standing on my lawn?
It’s my husband Bud–or is his name Paul?
I thought he died–I can’t recall.
The thermometer says it’s 63.
I don’t know why it lies to me.
I can’t stop sweating–watch me pour.
My body says it’s 104.
My joints creak and pop so bad
I’m like a steel drum from Trinidad.
Leg cramps woke me again last night.
Why is my skin so loose and my muscles tight?
My health is iffy. I may not thrive.
But life is good–and I’m still alive!
And yet I wonder more and more
What I’ll be like at seventy-four!
When you started borrowing and rearranging,
I really didn’t mind.
You took my slim flat stomach
But added lots to my behind.
You even took my memory so
I wouldn’t notice things,
Like my slender upper arms,
Which have now developed wings.
You gave me my own road map,
But why put it on my face?
Couldn't you at least have found
A less conspicuous place?
My throat, swanlike and slim,
Which I had always thought’ll
Stay that way, you decided to
Change to a turkey wattle.
How can I forget that the boobs of my youth,
Which once I let live free,
Are conveniently able, now,
To rest upon my knee?
My hair was a lovely chocolate brown
And is now a faded grey,
Unless I let my hairdresser
Bi-monthly have her way.
How nice of you that on my hands
You have given me age spots,
So when I’m bored I can play a game;
It’s called “Connect the Dots”.
You’ve put a tremor in those hands,
My steadiness I’m losing,
But I must admit, saves a step when I pour
Stuff that says, “Shake before using.”
I used to be able to work all day
And party ‘til the sun shone bright.
Please tell me, when did 6:00 p.m.
Become the new midnight?
Lunch now comes at 9:00 a.m.
And dinner around 3.
I have breakfast before I go to bed.
I’ve reorganized, you see.
No one has hit on me for years,
A fact that’s sad but true.
I’d love to hug and kiss some guys
(And whatever else I used to do).
I could charm any man or boy,
Thought that would always be my fate.
Who knew that my charms would come
With an expiration date?
You took my young stud of a husband
And made him almost 83,
I’m still young (in my mind, at least);
Now he’s too old for me!
My bones have become quite brittle
And my skin is paper thin.
I’m shorter than I used to be.
I blame you for the shape I’m in!
I thought I’d accepted getting old,
Though in my heart of hearts,
I’d really like to be young again
But I can no longer get the parts.
You took these things without permission
And I deeply feel their lack,
So all these things you “borrowed”,
You owe me and I want them back!
For the payment of a dollar I’d give you rhymes like “scholar” & “collar”.
For half you would get “staff” & “giraffe”.
And for a quarter, “shorter” & “porter”.
A dime could get you “crime” & “thyme”
Or even a nickel might elicit “tickle” & “pickle”
But for a penny you don’t get any!!