I feel like I’m wearing an extra pair of socks.
But all over my body.
It seems my coat is intent upon catching on every knob today.
I feel accidentally flamboyant.
Being over 50 means having strange warmth
spreading from my cheeks to my knees, skipping my hands.
I watch the older woman, cataloging her:
crimson hair, brown fur coat, green pants,
leopard handbag, clutching a tissue.
I look down at myself, mostly muted.
There is coffee cake in the break room
and if that doesn’t sound dully sophisticated,
I don’t know up from down,
though that can be confusing anyway
when it’s an incessantly grey winter.
There’s an awful 80’s ballad playing,
making me want to ask the optometrist for ear plugs.
I feel like Billy Pilgrim, in and out of time.
The old woman is making declarations
and I’d like to too, if I had something
besides creature comforts to cling to today.
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