Don't look now

I'm fading away

Into the gray of my mornings

Or the blues of every night

Is it that my nails

keep breaking

Or maybe the corn

on my secind little piggy

Things keep popping out

on my face

or

of my life

It seems no matter how

I try I become more difficult

to hold

I am not an easy woman

to want

They have asked

the psychiatrists . . . psychologists . . . politicians and social workers

What this decade will be

known for

There is no doubt . . . it is

loneliness