I'll never have a friendship like hers again.
There will be a hole in the fabric of my tattered being.
How many holes in this moth eaten looking creature before it turns
To dust, I could be seen as the ghost of the world's oldest pregnant
Woman. That's how little I seem to care about perception,
A Pucci top, navy handkerchief-linen wide-legged
Weightless pants, so wrinkled they looked slept in.
The pedicure is way past over, and terribly overdue,
I must have cared once.
Who will care or notice now?
Lonely old women are invisible.
There was once a word for women like me
I think it might be offensive,
(If you are a woman like me.)
It's only when I walk my little dog that I'm seen.
Then people think "cute dog", and
"great, she's got a poop bag."
© 2010 Peggy Pendleton