Tick

by: Dottie PR

She wore her heart necklace,
as if this talisman of fifteen could ward off her 39th birthday
concocting a proud demure for the onlookers
which she viewed askance.
lavender dress, upswept hair, perfection.
The smell of flowers swirling round
but not a summer field, on a breezy day
shoes off
scratched shins.
Instead,
overripe,
almost turned,
sickeningly sweet,
funeral flowers.
No longer fly season, but tick season.
She couldn't afford to be shooed away
next decent thing,
flicker of interest,
latch on,
refuse to be brushed aside,
only when pinched
will she let go.
She wore her heart necklace,

as if this talisman of fifteen could ward off her 39th birthday

Better off than

fifteen years old,

rife with reality,

entering the tenth grade

All grown up. 

Cindy Sherman - Women of a Certain Age