Even if you stretched it way back behind her earlobes, temples and chin,
still, the lines would remain,
evidencing the collagen and elastin famine.
As it is, deep channels line her lifeless jowls,
creating wards in her cheeks … concessions and lots
above which premier lonely globes in their watery holes.
I’ve tried to find that never-ending path that would lead me through her history,
even smiled so that she might revisit or create a pleasant memory,
but all lanes lead to cliffs — some point that would make me sore — as she stares through me.
Dear meandering Mrs., times have changed.
And I wish you knew all that science could do for you,
for science can do much though my simple smile fails.
Even men secure their youth with frequent little injections, brief little pricks.
They don’t have to be hemmed in — their distinctive features silenced by brash grooves.
Now, as ever, you can covertly cling to the symphony of your youth.
But I suppose it might be jarring to watch you grasp the rail, unable to move,
yet baring your glossy features in a timeless fashion.
