I was a girl in church
Giggling at the old women
And their Sunday hats
Thinking to myself
“I’d die before I come to that”
Sagging white stockings and
Arthritis rub clear to the back pews
Meekly rocking to the same sermon
I swore we heard last week
With that simple little grin on their
Well worn faces
“God I’d hate to sit there” I think
I’d die

Fast forward 60 years
And three singles bridge clubs
Down the line
And I swear
I’m not just talking poetry
With this young black secretary
This man gives me the only thrill
I get these days without wine
And bubble bath
But I’m still cool enough
To wonder what he really makes of
My coy chat
I smirk and show him my stockings
And we both have a laugh
I’d die without that