MIDDLE AGE
Some days I just feel like
an old woman,
sort of crinkled up
like a Post Toastie.
With my furrowed eyebrows,
I feel soberly wise,
of infinite age
as I babysit my brother
while Mom’s next store
borrowing sugar--
or something.
What’s it take to learn to be
young again?
Age?
No.
A hurt needed soothing,
a snowball fight,
a brother who tattles,
a neat joke.
‘Course then,
one shouldn’t rush into
feeling young.
It’s better to have
the burdens of the world
on your shoulder.
Keeps your feet
on the ground.
I’m tired.
Beth Good - 1970s
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