An Ode To The Menopause

28 Sept

It’s those mad, menopausal moments

That can drive me quite insanely around the bend.

And when such mayhem takes over my life,

I begin to doubt if it will come to an end.

These are the days when words don’t roll off my tongue,

But stick to it stubbornly like glue.

And if we’re talking and I still can’t remember your name,

I’ll just wave madly, and shout: “Oi you!”

These are the times when sleep becomes

Like a lost treasure for the raiders of the ark.

And that’s why I’m now awake at god knows o’clock,

Writing this poem from an inspirational spark.

If running up and down the stairs was an Olympic sport,

I’d have more than one medal, perhaps a handful or two.

Because I never have a bloody clue what I’m looking for

Or if instead I needed the loo.

And then there’s the horror of excessive menopausal hair,

With embarrassment, to my hairdresser I’ve shown.

There’s no need for thickening remedies for me, Oh no,

A new style of baby hair I appear to have grown.

And why is it that as woMEN,

Our problems such as MENstruation and the MENopause,

All seem to have the same thing in common,

And that is men being at the root of their cause?

Monthly menstruation doesn’t make for poetic prose

But it’s an inconvenience now, as it was in our youth.

Slowly drying up in a rage of hot frustrated tears,

It’s like a red rag to the bull, a sign to speak our truth.

And although I may jest about growing old,

I know it is a privilege denied to many.

And a millionaire I would indeed be by now,

If for each of my menopausal thoughts, you’d give a penny.

Amongst all the midlife confusion and worries

This meno monster likes to throw our way.

My favourite part is no longer giving a shit,

And finding the courage to finally mean what I say.

Sue Pritchard

An Oldie Or A Goodie?