A Stitch In Time.
Updated on January 1, 2010
A Stitch In Time.
Face grows old
its wrinkles fold.
Crow's feet
leave imprints
perched at the
corners of her
feathering lashes.
Frown lines
bend down,
creating a
marionette effect,
while her forehead
holds the trinity
of worry,
despair,
and loneliness
creased in
three rows.
Once a beauty queen but
now a duty seen,
daily slopping on
the skin creams
that promise
to smooth
but only leave
an oily sheen.
A razor and
some stitchwork
would do the trick,
a sterile needle
some Oral-gel
applied topically
to numb the surface
and some
delicate cuts
to the edges
of her face.
Then pull
the skin tight,
stretching
life's canvas
and stitching
it in place,
granting twenty
years erased.
Maybe with a quart
of vodka straight
and some
painkillers
she just might
attempt it,
on some lonely
49 year old night.
She just
might become
that drastic
plastic surgeon,
because
being old
is so much
more painful.
©-MFB III