She puts her wig on carefully,

She cakes powder on her face;

Her wig is black, her hair is grey,

And falling out at pace.

She sprays herself with “Liberal”,

An all-over body spray;

She takes her garlic capsules

To keep the germs at bay.

She glues on her false eyelashes,

And puts lip-gloss on her lips;

She puts long plastic fingernails

On all her fingertips.

She applies her eye line nervously,

And some rouge upon her cheeks;

Tonight’s the night she has waited for,

She’s planned this date for weeks.

She trims the hair beneath her nose,

And admires her ageing grace;

She evens out her creasing clothes,

And screws her leg in place.

She wanders to a cabinet,

And takes a tumbler out;

From which she takes her shiny teeth,

And inserts them in her mouth.

She then looks for her hearing aid,

So that she can hear her friends;

That is if she can find it,

Having found her contact lenses.

A dab of perfume on her neck and wrists

And some behind her ears;

It’s amazing how she looks, she thinks,

Despite her eighty years.

Her whalebone corset cracks and pops,

As she stoops to tie her shoes;

Tonight she’ll get her man for sure,

Sure how could one refuse?

Breno©