60

Sixty, twisted by invisibility.

Anonymity has given me

the gift of being free.

No greedy, watchful eyes

long lasciviously for me.

No longer do women hide

envy and jealousy.

I pass through my days unnoticed,

blissful as a ghost.

No make up, no hose,

loose, the sole object of my clothes.

My curves are my curves,

not meant to please others.

I wish when I were younger

I’d known better than to bother.

There is no other joy in the league of liberation.

I stand alone in peace,

observe the mad gyrations:

the wanting, the getting, the seeking,

the spending, the exhausting showing off,

the LOOK AT ME, ME, ME

constant scrolling of other generations,

attention the current currency tempting greed.

Little can compare to the lilt of a chickadee,

the scent of a mophead peony,

the pleasure of my own company.