early sunas we leave the house
the scent of lavender
© Rachel Green 2019
I don't see the wobble
as I wander the streets
the idea of myself
it still nineteen years old
stick thin, pale
fit as a Butcher's
but that was almost forty years ago
and my skin has sagged,
my hair gone grey
and my waist
resembles the Michilin man
whish probably tells my age:
I'm old enough to remember
when the clothes label
was worn on the inside.
© Rachel Green 2019
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