Cadillac Lady

She wakes up each morning at the first sign of light,

she’s frail and she’s fragile but there’s plenty of fight.

Her legs now are weak and she moves kinda slow.

She lives all alone, except her cat she named Mo.

She sits in her kitchen and thinks of a time,

a young wife and a mother, alive in her prime.

The house now is empty, her husband since gone,

the children all married, each one has moved on.

I am 90 today, she remarks to her cat,

let’s find my red dress and put on my new hat.

A drive’s what I need, I’ll go get the car,

I know that I shouldn’t, but I won’t go far.

It takes her some time, to locate the keys.

She backs out the drive, speeds as fast as the breeze.

She grips the wheel firmly, both feet on the brake,

she’s quite a slow driver, her time she does take.

She feels independent in her white Cadillac.

So far there’s no scratches, side mirrors intact.

She keeps her eyes forward, no reason to check,

to see there’s behind her a huge bottleneck.

There’s beeping and yelling, but she’s not aware,

she’s enjoying her freedom, the wind in her hair.

It takes her some time to drive just one block,

she’s 90 today, so who’s watching the clock.

She returns to her house, feeling lighter than air.

There’s a youthful appearance as she trots up the stairs.

My birthday’s complete, I’ve had quite a day,

a drive is much better than TV or crochet.

She says life is like driving a big Cadillac,

keep your eyes facing forward, no need to look back.