The body corporate—a poem
Once your home was wet and squeezy/ your only duty was to grow/ until she said it’s over, out you go.
A trusty home is always ours
/ this tender leather pouch /of senses, cells and energies.
Category: Unyoung
What is your job?—a poem about retirement
What is your job / when you no longer have a job? / What is your work / when you don’t go to work any more?
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What are you wearing, old woman?—a poem about disruptive senior style
What are you wearing, old woman?/ Are you in Jenny Joseph red / with a purple hat that doesn’t go?/Or are you in sloppy old workout clothes/ because you might work out today/(you never know)
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Slow–a poem
Why do you stereotype / your future selves, the old? / Because we’re slow.
It’s true, we know it.
Our speech is slow/ as we search for the word we want / or another word that would do
this is me, Sheila, talking — poem
this is me, Sheila, talking I have seen fingers crack in the ring like girdle scones this is me, Sheila, talking this is me this is me I have seen women settle like junket, I have seen water curdle listen this is me this is Sheila this is me I am a person who knows […]
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