I’m not your honey! I am nobody’s honey.

Somehow I became ninety-three. No-one warned me.

SIDEWAYS BY ELIZABETH HILL 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 128

I have made my slow way to UPS,

to mail my daughter-in-law the Kindle

she left on their last visit.

Newsprint, brown paper.

Have I wrapped it well enough?

My blue-veined hands struggled with the Scotch tape.

Will they visit again?

They promise. I worry.

I left my bed to make my way to the store.

I am tired all the time.

The clerk asks, “Ground or overnight? Cash or credit?”

I struggle to answer, not sure of the choices.

I can’t remember the address.

Did I leave it behind? Is it in my pocket, my purse?

-

The woman next in line says, “Can I help you honey?”

I summon, “I’m not your honey!”

I am nobody’s honey.

When I was young no-one called me honey.

I finally find the address and hand the clerk my credit card.

-

Somehow I became ninety-three.

No-one warned me.

I dread my gray face. It sags.

My neck hangs low, jiggling when I talk.

I no longer attempt my golden Bobbi Brown cover up.

My prodigious wrinkles have become my face.

I walk with a cane -- by myself.

But all this is no-one’s business.