Menopause
Author: Adair Lara
The mother of all wake-up calls
After the hormones wear off like party drugs
The house is rewired
By a blind and maybe drunk electrician
Sparks are flying
The thermostat’s out of whack
It’s like living in a Bulgarian hotel
Still. The craziest hotel has its dance band.
I see you there in your little black dress
And little black mood.
You got back from Bangkok with new eyes,
just in time for your first granddaughter
to be born with your old eyes.
You can now turn your head side to side
Say no in several languages.
Oh, the forgotten pleasure
Of not pleasing.
You who skipped Ivanhoe and parallelograms
take night classes and sit up front.
Making yourself sharp and sure for
that woman in the glass.
The to-do list has changed
Do become self-basting.
Do buy yourself roses
And hang one over an ear.
Don’t finish books
if you don’t like ‘em
Don’t examine thighs in tooth-paste flecked glass
Do stroll in the dark up Kilimanjaro
Write books start tea shops paint wild canvases?
