Posting from Paradise

My dear friend of 50 some years, gave me wonderful gifts for my b'day, among which was a little book of poems by Judith Voirst "
Too Young to be Seventy". In her honor and for my women friends of a certain age I have composed a poem.

Once I turned 70
I took a close look
At the choices I had
from the cosmetic repair book.

I could get an eye lift
I know the tricks of the test.
I'd fail with flying colors
and my lids would look the best.

I could get a tuck
I could use one below
and another on top
to even out you know.

I could get a lift
and again have a butt
that would draw a whistle
and a bit of smut.

I could get my arm wings
removed and made gone
and have my thighs thinned
thus losing a pound.

I already wax my upper lip
and my chin
as much as I fight aging
I just can't seem to win,.

So I guess I'll relax
because, by the time I was done
I'd not only be broke,
but not having fun,.

I might look younger
In the mirror I'd see
Some one else all doctrified
but it would't be me.