I saw you as a bleach blond,
I saw you as a Clairol brunette,
I saw you in your curlers
And a funky black hair net,
I’ve seen you in a bathrobe,
Bunny slippers and flannel jammies,
A tight full black body stocking
And sexy silk thong panties.
I saw you all painted up,
I saw you without it too,
I saw you in the bed at night
With face covered in green goo.
I’ve seen you at your best and worse,
When you were right or wrong,
But the last time I ever saw you,
You said adios, goodbye, I’m gone.
Now the dogs are eating better,
They don’t worry, whine or fret,
I don’t have bad dreams in my sleep,
I don’t break out in cold night sweats.
I’m thankful for the things you are,
For defining what the word woman can mean,
But watching your big old backside depart,
Was the best of you I have ever seen.
©2011, Donald Harbour
I notice “menopause” is one of your tags on this wickedly funny poem. Yes, yes indeed. (And I speak from experience, unfortunately!)