By my age I thought I would finally be able to
Finish Moby Dick,
Wait for the meal to be served without eating the roll,
And display unruffled composure when I'm at a cocktail party where I don't know a single soul
And nobody talks to me,
Instead of wanting to run and hide in the bathroom.
By my age I thought I would finally be able to
Read a tax return,
Admit that I'm wrong when I'm wrong - and not gloat when I'm right,
And display serene acceptance when I watch my married son walk out into the cold and snowy night
In a pair of torn sneakers
Instead of screaming, Stop! You'll catch pneumonia.
By my age I thought I would finally be able to
Speak coherent French,
Refrain from providing advice unless someone begs,
And display mature detachment when this lady M.B.A. with perfect skin and even better legs
Makes a play for my husband,
Instead of plotting to push her face in the pasta.
By my age I thought I would finally be able to
Cope with Celsius,
Drive to New Jersey without getting lost every time,
And display a mature and serene and composed and detached and unruffled acceptance of all that I'm
Still not able to do
By my age.
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