I know what they say because I’ve heard the buzz.
My profile, alas, is not what it was.
But the fact that some parts of me have required
more helpful support as they have retired
does not negate the simple true fact
that all my former charms are intact.
They shifted location against my behest.
My breasts have moved south, my hips east and west,
and my upper arms have chosen to rest
in regions below where they’ve deemed that it’s best
to hang in their hammocks without so much tension
as when they were forced to remain at attention.
Some women thirst for their trim bods of yore,
but frankly, I find their efforts a bore.
Whether they seek them by suction or scalpel,
by fairy wand, prayer or by decree Papal,
Iit doesn’t seem worth it for when they get fit,
what are they going to accomplish by it?
For though they are going to look mighty fine,
what lovers are left by the age 89?
I finished this poem at 11:34 am and need to be in town by noon, so I’m leaving it to Forgottenman to find an illustration for this poem. If it isn’t appropriate, blame him!!!