The Menopause Blues
You may think I’m old and I’m wrinkly,
My body’s a terrible state.
My hair’s going gray, I suppose you might say,
I’m well past my ‘Best Before Date’.
I think that my hearing is muffled,
I know that my teeth are all plastic.
I’m blind as a bat, but I’m grateful for that –
The view in the mirror’s less drastic.
I’m obeying the old law of gravity,
And if it commands me much more,
I’ll have rucksacks for eyes, boobs down to my thighs
And my buttocks will drag on the floor.
At aerobics I’d drown out the music,
With that godawful cracking and creaking,
And I’d just feel like shit if I tried to ‘keep fit’,
My joints would protest with loud squeaking.
I’m not into jogging or swimming,
It’s too much like strenuous toil,
My body won’t take it: I can’t even fake it
With gallons of 3-in-one oil.
But before you throw me on the scrap-heap,
Or have me put down by the vet.
Just wait, hold the zimmer. There might be a glimmer
Of hope for the old baggage yet.
There’s a lot to be said for experience,
It wasn’t all trouble and strife.
Just let me have fun with somebody’s son,
And I’ll soon spring back into life.
I could do with a nice little toy-boy,
I’d teach him a lesson or two.
Or perhaps three or four, then maybe some more,
Let’s see what an old girl can do.
I’ve learned quite a lot in my lifetime,
Like how to be free and inventive,
The physical jerks would themselves be the perks,
Now that’s what I call incentive.
As much as I’ve gained in endurance,
In exchange, I’ve lost inhibitions.
I’m raring to go and show what I know,
For hours, without intermissions.
Or maybe I’ll go for an old one,
A ‘dirty’ old man, I just might.
So long as he’s clean, and I know where he’s been,
And he brings his own box of Yeast-Vite.
Though he might be a little bit slower,
At least he’d have more staying powers.
Though he may be wizened, once it has risen
He could possibly go on for hours.
An older man might have his drawbacks,
No hair, a loose denture that chatters.
But while he’s not flagging, I won’t mind him sagging
So long as it’s not where it matters.
But having said that, on reflection,
A young stud sounds much more appealing.
And if he’s too fast, and can’t make it last,
I’ll cry out “Now once more with feeling”.
When I was younger I worried,
About morals too numerous to mention.
Someone who’s older can be so much bolder,
And stuff all that pointless convention.
My creative streak has run riot,
There are no longer rules to the game.
I can play how I like and become an old bike,
Who cares if I get a bad name.
When I was young I was pretty,
I had men lined up in a queue.
But I sent them away, too frightened to play,
Sex was something that ‘nice’ girls don’t do.
Then later on I got married,
And sex was a matter of course.
Once it was duty it lost all it’s beauty,
To regain it I filed for divorce.
But sexual power is fleeting,
Before you know it, it’s lost.
Who wants to be naughty with frumpy at 40?
I’m now finding out to my cost.
I’m left with a bit of a problem,
Now I’m ready, geared up for the kill.
Outside of the blind, it’s so hard to find,
At my age, a lover who WILL.
To any young woman who’ll listen,
I’d say without shadow of doubt.
Have fun and rejoice in your freedom of choice,
Or else you might find you’ve missed out.
By – Stephanie Harness