2013—Day 223—Crepe Paper Thighs

Ten years ago, I wrote a poem, my first (and only) poem written since high school English required that action of me. It was inspired by gravity and I hadn’t thought of it for years until a few days ago when it came to mind in a conversation with a friend. This morning, I thought of it again when I got out of my car at my gym and espied a gorgeous red crape myrtle in the parking lot. I took a few shots of the crapy flowers and decided to feature my poem along with the photo. Except for the words “crepe” and “crape,” which I think mean the same thing, and the fact that I created both, there is no relationship between the poem and photo. I suspect the photo of the crape myrtle is much more appealing than a photo of my crepe paper thighs would be, however.

Crepe Paper Thighs

by Carol Smith
May 14, 2003

How did it happen?
I want to be told.
Oh please, won’t you tell me,
When did I get old?

It was so unexpected,
I ignored every clue.
How could I not notice
What now is so true?

The changes were subtle,
At first, just a few.
One gray hair among brown ones,
More trips to the loo.

Then an inch disappeared
From my usual height.
I now need bifocals
To clear up my sight.

There are lines and some creases
‘Round my mouth and my eyes.
My upper arms droop
And my weight’s on the rise.

Although I expected
Some lines on my face,
And a shift in my bustline
To some other place.

I wasn’t prepared for,
Nor thought that I’d see
Deep creases and wrinkles
From my hip to my knee.

There are facials and toners
And lots of hair dyes,
But why can’t we get Botox
For crepe paper thighs?


Day 223-37