How Old By Your Hands Poem by Butch Decatoria

Church Lady Dearest

Says she's grown old

"Silver's not so foxy"

Says she is quite practical

Serious her moonlight moxy

Now no use

For Face-off make-up or

Delusions of grand magic

Says she

Don't worry—with age comes

Pragmatism, Sister Agnus Wisdom

Sure bound to

Have fractures / cracks

With such antique

Foundation…

Old lady Golden Goose

Giant wisdom, beanstalk limbs

Sullen dreary sunken

Lost princess whims

Thoughts like her hair frosted,

Thinning…

Says she has nothing to whisper,

Sweetly cannot hide

A great old oak's age rings

Inside

There's no use for abusive rouge

Mirage of glossy lips kissy

Thing in headlights

Make up with oneself, forgive, and confide

Besides because

Your hands tell your aches & true age

Church Lady just smiles…