The temperature was pushing forty <br />as we limped into the swanky cafe - <br />air-conditioned, thank God! <br />The patronage was mostly middle class <br />and middle aged, <br />save for a few ancients <br />shuffling tentatively <br />behind their Easy Walkers. <br /> <br />The meal took ages, <br />and you were hot and bothered in the heat, <br />so I filled in the time <br />perusing the faces around me. <br />A sour sexagenarian <br />caught my eye. <br />She had the face of a bulldog <br />and an ample rump that overflowed her chair. <br />She stuffed food into her mouth <br />with dogged determination <br />and unreliable dentures. <br />Her shapeless frock had wilted <br />and her gray locks <br />hung limply beside long-lobed ears. <br /> <br />Another of a similar vintage, <br />teetered by the till. <br />At first I thought she was young. <br />Her shoulder-length hair <br />was dyed and tipped <br />and her scarlet three inch heels sparkled - <br />but as she turned toward me, <br />the heavy makeup and designer spectacles <br />failed to fully mask <br />a lined and leathery face <br />that had baked too long <br />under Melbourne's blistering sun. <br /> <br />As the waitress placed <br />our 'chili squid' before us, <br />I remarked to my grumpy companion <br />that these two were probably our age! <br />Sad, how one had given up completely, <br />while the other hung on so desperately <br />to her brightly painted youth.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/aging-with-grace/
