WALKING ON THIN ICE

LOSING MY NEOTONY

O that I could be reborn in the morning
I want a brand new day for my 35 year old self
but I’m startled by the details of usage in my mirror
Peculiar wrinkles emboss my mouth like I’m the Joker’s apprentice
I engage chemical weapons monthly against
the grey footsoldier minefields of hairline time

I’m as nauseating as a librarian
who exercises a modicum
of self respect in enunciation,
yet clings to nostalgia like it’s new
with a side order aura of cliché
I’m pigeonholed by the confidence
of my firm handshake
under flapjack breasts

I’m probably still attractive to
45 year old cum but
my face is too specific

I lose my neotony

Lady