May 5, 2017
Photo by Bobby Ogata
A New Poem by Hilde Oleson
My friend Tommy said,
“Oh,don’t become a sweet old lady!”
When somehow I said something mild
Instead of the usual vitriolic response.
How I wish I could.
I wanted to. That was my childhood wish.
I wanted to be a good girl.
I wanted my hair to stay in curls.
I wanted my dress not to get torn climbing fences.
I wanted church songs to sound as tempting
As did rock and roll.
When I grew up it was the bad boys,
With their flashing eyes and flashy cars
That tempted me , but when I settled
Into a regulated life I intended to have
The regulation 2 and ½ children
Who somehow melded into four.
I never kept the neat house, or regular hours.
But I had joyous hours re-living childhood
With my kids.
Life has moved along swiftly for me,
Now I am entered into what they call old age.
It is no different–just a day
That slides in sometime during the night
To surprise me.
I still like best the people with that sparkle in their eyes,
The words that tease, the mischief they present.
I like the ones that fall, and pull themselves back up,
And try again, when all the medicals have left,
To rise again.
Feisty old ladies sign a million petitions, write
Limirics about profound subjects and people
With no sense of humor.
Difficult oldsters encourage kids to move
In directions that surprise them both.
And find to their surprise that being old is just another phase.