My Posse of Women

We are a rare lot, women with burgundy hair, a tad bit over fifty-nine. But then I meet up with my friends, and I see that two of them are a lot like me. One’s hair is magenta, another one is turquoise, like-minded women, my kind. We walk into a restaurant, and old men give us a wide berth, my comrades and me. We are wearing our butterflies, and exotic shawls, parading differences fine. We are glad to see each other, and laugh as loudly as any hens you will see. We do not talk religion or politics, because that is where we have to draw the line, So we can remain friends, oblivious to more serious stuff, free to merely be Our happy go-lucky friends for all eternity selves, to laugh and joke and whine.