Log Cabin Chronicles

The naked truth


I don't need a soothsayer or even a doc
I need neither a friend nor a foe
The full-length mirror propped up before me
Tells me all that I need and don't want to know.

Full-body shampoos and excellent cuts
Volume conditioners promising all
Yet all I can manage when washing my hair
Is to volume dry and weep when it falls.

My face has long been a challenge
But it too has been moved through the years
My nose slopes right and my mouth follows suit
And we just won't discuss my disparate ears.
Brows and lashes are thin, so I'm plucking my chin
And mustaches on women are clearly not cute.

And then come the overhangs, straight from the top
Chins, upper arms and bellies go south
Skin overhangs on my back and my bum
And even my elbows and knees swing about.

And my breasts? The greatest disgrace of them all
They used to be pert, standupish and pretty
And now they hang -- should I say that they fall
Right to my waist and beyond -- oh the gall!
Oh how I miss my young titties.

I swim and I walk and I walk and I swim
Oh yes I lose weight but can't tighten the swing
Can't firm up the excess, superfluous flesh
I undulate left when I step to the right
And right when I step to the left.

Face hair is face hair and won't go away
So I'll pluck my mustache and my chin.
If that's all that's left I can handle the job
With a lot of humility and a very large grin.

But when put in perspective, I just love to eat
And don't think I'll be stopping that soon.
Perhaps some Jane Fonda to tighten things up
A little less chocolate and other good stuff
A little more stretching and biking and fruit
Less bread and less butter, less chip and less dip
Might make a difference someday
But who am I kidding, the older I get
The more likely this body will stay.

Berit Lundh makes photographs and writes in Oslo, Norway.

Home | Poetry Menu | Fiction

Copyright © 2009 Berit Lundh