Poetry Friday - The Collected Works of Susan Ramsey
I'm not dead to the irony of posting a poem like this in the Summer of my own years. What the hey, as they say. It's a sonnet, I think.
The Year Hits Perimenopause
Autumn has decided what the hell.
She knows the symptoms and already frost
has tarnished her. She's not a fool. She knows
however much she feels like May the snows
are coming, so before this chance is lost
she's going to wear red, show off her tits,
plump apples, bulge pumpkins. She is going to swell
each bunch of grapes to cleavage and shadowed musk.
Fuck decorum, honey, take a bite.
Take two. Each day is shorter than the last
and colder, so her unimpeachable night
is thick with glitter, rhinestones, sequins, glitz.
She thinks that maybe she'll even try her luck
and use her license for a few young bucks.