The Guy at McDonald’s/Cool Grandma

The guy at McDonald’s doesn’t know…
It was a bitch to get moving this morning
because a million speckled memories of past
mistakes, regrets, sad hours, memories held
me to the bed as I tried to wake up.

The guy at McDonald’s doesn’t know…
the effort it took to “put on my face”
and spike up my hair, searching every kitchen
drawer for a smile to wear and looking in each
closet to find the twinkle missing from my eyes.

The guy at McDonald’s doesn’t know…
I’m swimming around buoys and running down
rabbits in the field in my mind most days trying
to find the course syllabus for life at 53 after
the end of a 20 year marriage & a million lost
dreams that danced a jig out the door with the X.

The guy at McDonald’s doesn’t know any of this
as he leans out the window awed and thrilled
by the sexy black Audi holding a smiling blonde,
purse dog riding shotgun, and asks in excited tones:

“Are you the Cool Grandma or the Cool Aunt?”
I’m the Cool Grandma I say …. Grateful
that the word Cool is still in style.

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