How should I count them?
Which . . . or who . . . qualifies?
By duration, effect, by angst or by joys?
The permanent quirks? The Interim lies?
The girl, the ghoul, the crone, the child.
The mild one able to scold the wild?
Are they Jungian poses
Of ancient lore,
The dark ones, the bright ones,
The whole damn galore?
For me, they’re all real to greet when I rise
With hope that some, please, might make me wise.
I could get more serious,
but, oh, what’s the point.
Just face it old girl, they’re all out of joint.
Be gracious, be cheerful.
Spare others an earful.
They’ve got their own selves to compare and contrast.
Just share what you care to . . .
This poem’s over at last.
Karen Hayes writes dark 'n whimsical fiction and creative non-fiction. Karen wrote the essay Online Dating for Seniors and is currently working on her memoir, True Places. For more information visit: hayesforwords.com
Do you have a personal essay or a poem on aging you'd like to share? If so, I'd love to read it. Send it my way!
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