We were hillbillies when we lived in the north
But now that we are Floridians, we have to come forth
Admit that we love wearing pajamas and nighties all day
When I go outside, my attire scares the alligators away
Now we are known as beach bums, which is okay by me.
I can sit on a beach and eat crackers, and drink lemon tea
Not only in the summer, but in the winter and fall too.
I love living here with the rednecks, Trump true.
I like my mumu, can wear it outside to garden or water ski.
Since I am in my seventies, no one says anything to me.
I became invisible a few years ago thanks to my age.
Wow! We had two inches of water according to this little gauge.
I have new friends now, we play bridge and use walkers too.
Eat all the rich foods, some of us weigh two hundred and two.
Our waistbands are elastic, there are crocs on our feet.
Come over for some goodies the next time you want to eat.
I have heard of a lazy day
Now I live them daily
Doing little to nothing at all
Looking at piles of things I could sort
But I don’t.
Retirement is a whole new perspective
A world unbeknownst to me until now
I have been dormant for six months
Living in a world of sitting, sleeping and lounging
Wearing pajamas, elastic waistbands, and sweatshirts
I rarely move; I am a contented slug
Soft t-shirts, warm flannels, easy to step into
Cozy fleece, light cotton, stretchy elastic waistbands
Comfy nightgowns, flowered pajamas, and a mumu
Retirement encourages a new way to dress
Comfort over class, coziness over chic
Fashion is over the hill now
I live in the country
The only ones who see me are my husband and my dogs
There's more rust in my joints than ever.
My bones sound like an old screen door,
and my knees predict the weather
better than any app.
Give me elastic waistbands, soft slippers,
and the creak of a recliner
that groans every time I sit.
Bring on the grandkids with sticky fingers
leaving fingerprints on the walls,
and loud toys that play the same song
again and again.
Pile on the mismatched furniture,
the frayed edges, the cracked plates,
and the joy of holding on to anything
that brings back a memory.
Let my friends swap stories about their ailments,
sit on the porch with their cardigans,
and say, "Remember when?"
Let mornings be slow, with aching backs,
glasses misplaced, and coffee that’s gone cold.
Remind me of the fortune of old photos,
the wealth of crumpled coupons,
and the art of navigating
the labyrinth of nostalgia.
Forget the resolutions,
just give me the constant hum of a well-lived life.
I’ll take the bottom of the cookie jar,
the forgotten, the outgrown,
the simple things that bring comfort,
one gentle turn
on the slow-spinning wheel of age.
Elasticated waistbands, at what age?
Comfortable trousers are all the rage.
For a mature figure and the oversized,
Some teenager's just take the rise.
Long-sleeved shirts in summer months
Cover the arms sags and bumps.
Dignity for the middle-aged
Whose bodies have maybe decayed.
Maxi dresses shade ankles and thighs,
Better days sometimes denied.
So, cover up your soft white bits,
As you get older have clothes that fit.
Take pleasure in your bulging figure
As you have grown with consummate vigour.
'Bought and paid for' is the phrase,
Now elasticated waistbands get teenage praise.
The menopause has hit me,
My oestrogen is going,
I'm very hot and sweaty,
My face all red and glowing.
My mood is unpredictable,
I scream and then I shout,
My waistbands getting tighter,
I'm fatter without a doubt.
My hair is getting thinner
On the top of my head,
But it's sprouting out of my chin
And upper lip instead.
My mind gets confused,
I'm forgetful, make mistakes,
Everywhere is itchy,
I just want to take a break.
So I'm off to see the doctor
To get some HRT,
Can't deal with all the symptoms
Of this menopause misery!
I saw you in a different light today
A dazzling light of femininity
You were not the normal little tomboy
In the cargo pants and baggy “T”
The usual beaten up old trainers
Had been replaced by four inch heals
Which shaped your normally hidden legs
Whose black clad debut certainly appealed
The sheer black of your stocking-ed legs
Disappeared beneath the tailored hem
Of a skirt that fitted hitherto, unknown curves
Accentuating hips, thighs and of course them
Tucked into the tiniest of waistbands
Was a crisp white blouse tailored to fit
Buttoned at the wrist and open at the neck
Three undone buttons so that it gaped a bit
I saw you in a different light today
Where you emerged from tomboy obscurity
Causing heads to turn and eyes to stare
And thoughts were those of impurity