Not too old to dance
Not too big to rumba
Never passing up a chance
To feel a little younger

Still learning some new steps
Hearing brand new beats
Sensing curious rhythms
Finding both my feet

Using all my muscles
Controlling my meander
With a God given freedom
To release the inner dancer

Old friends say they see
The dancer that they knew
They recognise the steps
Each one tried and true

So, whilst I’m not as spry
And maybe I’m less graceful
You won’t stop me dancing
Just not on any tables

A pack of pipe cleaners expertly twist into
Some itching bouquet of flowers
How can you blush just at the view
Of rosy strangers that eschew you

Being far away as a vacation destination
Locked in a fridge magnet, where for weeks
Summer heat like aftosa
Spread over your butter-yellow cheeks

Drops of pool-blue in a ***** ravine
Poorly polished toes bristle
Abjectly against a palette of olive-skinned
Limbs closing in like shingles on a roof

Plucking pestilent hairs from your nostril
Can make you feel important for years
The hearing aid wolf-whistles once
As you explode into tears

Today is my birthday.
In the last 15 years,
I got married twice,
Divorced once,
Gave birth to three kids,
Started two businesses,
Shifted to two cities.

Broke my knee once,
Mended it twice.
Published a book,
Traveled a lot,
Learned a lot,
Cried a lot,
Laughed a lot.

I taught,
And I talked.
Understood love,
Drowned in self-doubt,
Learned to be proud.

Had a lot of hair fall,
Found the courage to stand up tall.

So, today is my birthday.
In the past 15 years,
I understood age is just a number.
I am still that 15-year-old,
Wondering what adventure
Is in store for the next round.

If we're left alone,
We'll tear apart each other like wild animals,
A love so brutally free,
I can't imagine any if it's not you and me,
Just wait till we can drive,
The backseat of your car,
And all the time we can get.

If I were not old
I would paint the house
and shore up the insulation.
I would go out and **** the garden
and cut down brush and vines
that have taken over the yard
and suffocated my flowers.
I would put in a metal fence
and plant roses around it.
But I am too old for that
and I may die here one day,
in a darkened room, caught
inside the crumbling plaster,
whose windows are covered by ivy,
which reaches its fingers across the walls.
It is almost as if the errant plants
strive to imitate the flowers
I used to bring inside and
place in bouquets to brighten
my world, no matter how small.
I shudder to think what will be,
now that the flowers are gone.