plastic surgery
isn’t for me
but i’m glad
it works for you
botox isn’t my cup of tea
so you can have that too
i don’t want a mask that’s smooth
as a new-born baby’s bum
i don’t want my skin pulled back
tight as a kettle drum
 
i love every line on my face
all those wrinkles reveal my past
each crease tells a tale
of the living i’ve done
and the living i’ve done is vast
i love the whole damn story
not a word would i erase
such varied territory
i love every line on my face
 
“grecian formula”
won’t find its way
into this guy’s shopping cart
i won’t be touching up the roots
revealed where my hairs part
i won’t need an hour’s slot
at a colorist’s salon
i’ll just accept my lot
old as a mastodon
 
i love the gray hairs on my head
and the trials they symbolize
white threads which recall
all the grief i’ve survived
every error and compromise
my sins aren’t laudatory
but they’ve taught more than i’ve read
i may be old and hoary
but i love the gray hairs on my head 
 
i’m not saying that it’s easy
to grow old gracefully
suggesting that’s desirable
is akin to blasphemy
i’d rather not age faster
and i don’t mean to be smug
but keep the dyes and plaster
and i’ll keep this old mug
 
‘cause i love every line on my face
all those wrinkles reveal my past
each crease tells a tale
of the living i’ve done
and the living i’ve done is vast
i love the whole damn story
not a word would i erase
such varied territory
i love every line on my face

posted by admin on May 1, 2005, at 1:00 am | filed under poetry | no comments »

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