Good Old Days

My neck, where love ran
Just under the skin
Is now an old rickety ladder to the brain.

My breasts, a full delight
For child and man,
The setting
To carry rival jewels,
Dangle now untidy,
Unharvested, over-ripe.

The wishbone of my legs
Has changed their wishes’ destination,
Shin repeats to shin,
Welcome, death, you may come in.

I should be cheerless
As a crow in winter fields
When the light is going

But up here, at the top of the spine, behind the eyes,
Curtained a little, but not blind,
Sits a young and laughing mind
Wondering which part of me is telling lies.