they hang on

like plants well past their season

dolled up in beehive hairdos

heavy mascara and rouged cheeks

the earth may want them

but damned if they’ll go gently

into that awful night

to be acknowledged only by

the plastic flowers on their graves


ignored by their families

invisible to the young.

they babble on

to strangers and pets

the pollster on the street

who solicits their opinion

the telemarketer to whom they give

five good reasons why

they can’t accept his offer

the cat who looks on quizically

while they describe

in graphic detail

how they made love

on a deserted beach

a lifetime ago


their husbands are long gone

their friends dwindling by the day

but they’re not about to

bring the curtain down

they’d like to get

a little maryjane from Colorado

just to relieve the pain

maybe have a small butterfly

tattooed on their ankle

but DEATH? let the bastard wait


(Originally published in Mused Bellaonline)




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