Time Flight

Of course when she was
younger she loved to brazen
through a shining helmet of
brassy auburn, tinging on fire.
It glowed and so did she, never
mind she was just a sociable
clerk at a thrift shop. She too
could save enough for a winter
trip to Florida. But time moves
on, her body thickened though
that mischievous grin still sparks.
Now she says she's too tired
to forge on. Her hair no longer
dyed that brash invitation to
flirt, nor is it now, at age 60
that grimly gruesome steel-grey
au naturel she so detests. This
time she chose midnight black
not to advance the admission
of youth's flight into the dark
corridors of age, but to defy it,
as she prepares for the next
scene in the engaging play
so inexorable in its predictability
we all lightly refer to as life
adrift in the passage of time.