No Spring Chicken
Oh my lord,
No spring chicken,
How old can she be?
I think she knew Truman,
That's plain to see.
Purple shoes, purple pantsuit,
Even purple hair.
I wonder what color,
Is her underwear.
Oh my lord,
No spring chicken,
Walking down the midway,
With nary a care.
But oh dear lord,
Will you look at that hair!
poem by Juan Olivarez
Added by Poetry Lover
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