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.