Friday, April 17, 2009

April poem no. 17

An old, old poem, and still very relevant today. No matter how much I work out, no matter how many line fillers I use, it's impossible to erase the years. Oh, well. Like in the case of the new phenom, Susan Boyle, we should never judge a book by its cover.


They look through me,
the brawny young guys flexing their biceps
as they reach for the shoulder press.
Their eyes fix on the girl in sleek black tights
with boobs bursting out of her bra.
Strong and slim and self confident
she struts past, tilting her head back
to take a swig of water.

They look past me, the sweaty runners
in tank tops, Adidas shorts and hairy calf muscles
that form a perfect Vee
They see the far away figure on roller blades
with flowing blonde hair
showing more tan than thong.
Fit and firm she moves closer, smiles wide
and raises her hand to give them a high five.

Look at me. I’m firm and slim.
Underneath my baggy tee and sweats I feel 28.
Though my hair is almost white
and my face has lines impossible to erase.
Give me a glance, why don’t you,
a glimmer of recognition
that I still exist,
that I’m still worthy to be seen,
and good enough to eat.

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