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My mirror shows me my dancing seventeen-year-old self
When I wanted to be called woman, frowning at the term girl
I am going to go roller blading today, I sing out to my husband
He has allowed himself to turn old; he starts discouraging me

I do not tell him that yesterday I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro.
Or that tomorrow I am going to fool with a stripper pole at Mr. Leer’s.
None of his business that I am going bungee jumping today at two.
He patters in and stares at me. You’re not young you know, he says.

It is with joy in my heart that I escape his oldness; wearing my short shorts,
Crammed into Nancy Sinatra “These Boots are Made For Walk’n” boots. 
He dares not follow me. He is afraid to get in a car with me.

I fancy myself a race car driver, daring death to get in my face.
Did you take your medication? He yells from the doorway,
Afraid to come out onto the porch because he might break a hip.
We have aged completely differently, he and I. I give him the bird as I leave.

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