Now for the bad news. Last night I went to Open Mic night at the Kirkwood Train Station. Linda O'Connell invited her WWWPs, and when I heard that Marcia Gaye would be reading, it was like icing on the cake--or for a more concrete connection, like extra malt powder in my malt--because Marcia hardly ever reads her stuff. (Marcia had won first prize in the SLWG's poetry contest.)
I read the following piece, which is where the bad news comes in. Some things we mourn are unavoidable. Some grieving cannot be helped, and our lost youth is one of them.
Be prepared. You will sniff and cry and sob...
Getting
older was something I longed for---
Free
choices—I needed so many more.
I
grew up too fast,
My
parents were aghast,
And
my youth…gone for evermore.
Twenty-something,
I was fit and thin
I
even had only one chin!
Things
were where they belonged
(I
could still wear a thong)
But
no! Granny pants still made me grin.
In
my thirties things started to migrate
How
many of you ladies can relate?
My
gut got a bit flabbio
(Now
I’d never snag Fabio!)
Thank
god! Elastic was there to accommodate.
Once
I hit forty things had gone all awry
I
needed glasses for both of my eyes.
My
mustache I couldn’t see
Nor
my growing goatee,
Without
a mirror that could magnify.
In
my fifties, I’ve let everything go.
My
gut is now like risen bread dough.
I
can now tuck in my pants,
What
I used to enhance,
And
my butt needs its own private bungalow.
So
ladies—and gents—here’s my advice.
Growing
old ain’t all sugar and spice.
Enjoy
life as it comes
Savor
every last crumb
And
good looks…they’re so overpriced.
And now, for the "you choose your news" part of this post. Not Your Mother's Books is looking for your stories. They're seeking stories more twisted than Chicken Soup tales. Put the fun in dysfunctional and submit.
You never know. That little vignette you send off could result in your story getting published. And then you'll have good news to share soon...
