This politically incorrect poem was written in honor of my OLDEST sister’s 50th birthday, and, gosh, was she touched:
The bloom is gone, O! poor first-born,
you’re longer in the tooth…
today’s the day your siblings mourn
the passing of your youth.
Throughout your life you’ve blazed our trails,
through triumph and through crisis,
with frogs and snails and puppy-dog tails
and a double-dose of spices.
But now that trail leads over-the-hill…
(we hope your journey’s good),
yet don’t despair, there’s still the thrill
of being misunderstood.
‘Cause fifty’s when your life begins
(the admen swear it’s true)
so long as you take your Geritol
and dye your hair light blue!
Wear clothes that clash off thrift-store shelves
and break wind when you dance,
let your girdle and diapers declare themselves
from within your Spandex pants.
Drive extra slow wherever you go,
make U-turns without thinking,
wave at people that you don’t know
and leave your signals blinking.
No dinner conversation’s flat,
in fact, it causes howls,
’cause nothing makes for lively chat
like speaking of your bowels!
We envy you these Golden Years,
so tranquil, calm and slow,
but could you get your giggy in gear?!
Hey Grandma, Green Means GO!!!
From now on you’ll be fifty-ish,
so just sit on your sitting thing,
close your looking things and make a wish,
then blow out those things on that thing!
–sacrilege is its own reward!!–