Scrambled Legs

On remembering our meeting, second day of ‘72, 

Says he, “Your legs went to Pittsburg, that’s why I married you”

The shape comes from my father, varicosities perhaps my mom 

To show their best advantage now, opaque leggings are the bomb

I found some in bright colors: orange, purple and vibrant teal

But, at 60 something, is it legit to forget the look, and love the feel?

They’re stretchy and they’re clingy like wearing a soft cloud

But do they make me look too fat?  Too colorful or loud?

Elephants are on my favorites - black and white with trunks that curl 

Geometric shapes on another pair; and some with a mustache twirl

At sixty five and a week, I am officially old

I bought a cart to roll to where the farmer’s wares are sold.

Today, I rolled it all the way to the market, P.O. and T. Joe’s

Some one said, “I like your leggings...” be nice to old ladies with great hose

You never know whom you’ll meet while walking in this town 

Darn the cart, It picks up mud, and it slows me down

This morning’s outing started well, I put the cart under my arm

And strode full stride and filled it full with veggies from the farm

Somehow the trip back home was slow. The cart so awfully full,

It was all I could do to use my legs and quivering arms to pull

My legs got scrambled in a bush the cart teetered on the curb

Barely righting it, I cursed out loud the old familiar verb

For someone with white hair, wild leggings lend some flair

If you should see me on a Sunday with my cart, don’t stare

It might make me self-conscious, make me nervous, shy, and trip

If I do, my legs might scramble, I don’t want the tights to rip.

So, pass me by  and know that I will keep experimentin’

To find the look and feel that fits and keeps my honey smitten.