Not quite.
Too much
new red lipstick.
Too much
attention to
other people’s details.
Too many
untried cheeses.
So many funerals lately
and people surprised to see me.
So many doctors’ appointments
even my insurance is fussing.
So many medications
that don’t work anymore.
Too much time
with other people’s details
since my silence is mistaken
for attention vs daydreaming.
Still getting pedicures
even though the toes curl like baby fingers.
At the salon I attend
we are immersed in
Vietnamese chatter,
our pitiful feet
now soaking in water hot enough
to cook frankfurters.
The artists talk to one another
or someone in their earbuds
as they smile and tip their heads
while we, the owners of
feet in other people’s hands,
talk to one another about aging badly
or the world as it is vs. “our time”
or the cost of food,
or disgust related to
all/both sides of the
current political life
we are immersed in,
somewhat like our feet –
little or no choices even
when we hurt.
As we leave
and pay our charges,
we say
see you next time,
with the assurance that
next time will be available.
For us. As if we know
what we’re talking about.
As if our opinion matters.
And then we head to the
supermarket next door,
aiming for the bakery.
Cheeses to follow.
Meds already taken.
