Sixty Eight

SIXTY EIGHT For years I’ve lived with being a soixante-huiter Although my wardrobe’s more fastidious and neater Those heady days are not beyond recall The nights and days when we first did it all But sober work and ethics have combined To make a settled bed my truest mind And catalogues and dictionaries my woe To understand what happened long ago Far flung days have their own allurement But nothing beats the logic of procurement And adventitious loves have gone the way Of all youth, to say it’s had its day I daren’t even call myself a woman sweeter - Past perfect indiscretions tend to tweet her.