I've got one's scaly dry elbow in my ribs
and another's Manolo Blahniks on my toes.
What? What? Speak up.
Tell me which one you want and I'll try to find her.
Goddess knows if she'll be available, presto, just like that, though.
Whoa, back way the hell up.
Is that any way to talk to a child?
Okay, now you're patronizing me. I'm not twelve anymore.
Come and get it, sugar.
No wait, don't. I'm to old for this.
My parents are always telling me what to do, and now you.
Wait...what? I'm having trouble concentrating.
Talk to one, another might grab the mic and riff. Check it out:
the 754 ages of woman all talking at once behind my calm smile.
_________
for Sunday Muse #73.
Love this!
ReplyDeleteIncredible. I love this as a multiple-personalities poem.
ReplyDeleteAh, the 754 ages of women all talking at once behind the calm smile. That is it, exactly.
ReplyDeleteThe 754 stages of women. Lots going one in this poem, not to mention the different personalities.
ReplyDeleteBy the time we are middle aged, we certainly have worn many a hat, and all those hats are still wearable. This is brilliant Shay! Brilliant!!
ReplyDeleteSo much life in this poem, Shay. I love, “Goddess knows.”
ReplyDelete