lifted
Sometime in 2006 I had my eyes “done.” My friends were shocked and appalled. “You don’t need an eye lift,” they said in horror. “Are you crazy?” Maybe I was. But I went ahead with it anyway and I loved the result.
This year, as a sixty-fifth birthday present to myself, I decided to have a face and neck lift. I know, I know. Some people will again be shocked and appalled. That’s too bad. It’s not their face, it’s not their body.
I don’t know if the results are going to be as pleasing this time as they were the last – all will be revealed in the coming weeks and months. One thing for sure, the procedure was a lot more complicated and involved, and the recovery is going to take longer.
This poem is about that.
lifted
i’ve become a nun
to a pagan god
in gauzy bandages
i am swathed
blood and stitches
drugs and rest
are healing steps
with which i’m blessed
i’ve cuts and bruises
and swollen cheeks
the surgeon says they’ll
heal in weeks
he took some fat
from in my belly
turned my lips
to hardened jelly
my neck is purple,
black and blue
but soon he says
it’ll look like new
one eye’s now lazy
that used to be fine
its cure i’m told
will come in time
the question is
when all’s said and done
will my face shine
like the sun?
the doc he says
it’ll be a beauty
if he’s right
i’ll do my booty!
© Susan Macaulay 2020. I invite you to share this link widely, but please do not reprint or reblog or copy and paste my poems into other social media without my permission. Thank you.
note to self: do not argue with people whose purpose is to argue
