Amateur in Residence, By Mary Alice Gallagher Kaufman, 2009 —
Even in my youth, I knew
there’d come a time I would be old
and live in quite another world—
a world I’ve reached but still not sold
on double chins and gaining weight,
on thinning hair and losing height
or wondering if my memory
is fading with my dimming sight.
I’ve fallen arches, wear false teeth,
I’ve little breath for ballroom dancing.
Heartless nature has deprived
me of all need for sweet romancing.
As I recall the graceful stride
that used to rate me sky-high points,
I should have known that time would cause
a certain stiffness in my joints.
My widening waist does not excite
wild passion in the other sex,
nor does my bustline cause, these days,
an anatomical reflex
the way it did when passing by
some guy with nothing on his mind
but being young and thinking me
the epitome of female-kind.
Alas, ’tis over, gone for good
but other virtues wait, I’m sure.
Just what they are, I do not know.
Old age finds me an amateur.