A Poem About Aging, Chock-Full of Stereotypes, or at Least Crusty Adages

Time went completely wobbly

a long time ago

or was it only last week?

I’m older than my mother was

when I went off to college,

but just turned young enough

to snort-laugh a hallway chase

with an eight-year-old,

who says she might die laughing.

Seems we just chatted yesterday.

Has it really been years?

Years ago, I forgot my age

but now, cycling my half-century

is perpetually apparent.

Still too young for ladyfingers

with the bitter woman’s bridge

& sherry club, though.

They don’t serve vegans, plus

members are required

to wear underwear. At least

I’m old enough to know better

than to believe older means wiser.

For Kerry’s prompt to the Real Toads: YOUTH & AGE 
Plus, this is #20 of 30 Poems in November to benefit Center for New Americans. Whoosh!