Never wish too hard for a precious thing
Like a smooth brown baby without the “strings.”
In the blink of an eye, your twenties are gone
But not persistent illusions about men you could have won.
Your flat stomach and coyness will have disappeared
And sloping bulges will confirm what you had feared—
The intrusion of midlife and its anxieties
Stripping away the confidence that always put you at ease.
No earplugs will suffice when that brown baby starts to call
Your attention to deferred dreams and urge you to fall
Parachute-less in love-lust with a charming, harming man
Who lives to lure lonely ladies into his deceptive plan.
So mark your private calendar for hushed Birthday 32,
The year when your coveted eggs will begin to rot inside of you.