It’s like putting lipstick on a pig,
she thinks, painting cracked toenails.
Her hand shakes, smears scarlet
onto dry skin where it doesn’t belong.
She has trouble bending—a growing
fat roll circling her belly gets in the way.
She’d laugh, but that would cause her
to pee, despite thousands of kegels.
At the mirror, she beholds a blurry image
that looks like a younger version
of her elderly mother.
Leans in to pluck chin hairs,
count the new wrinkles.
Sighs as she remembers
clutching a man between thighs
now veined and flabby.
Misses seduction on cool sheets
during sultry ranch summers.