do the hustle

i was born too late
she says.
i should have lived
in another era.
do tell, you say,
flipping through
a food magazine.
you pull out
the centerfold
of a pot roast and say,
o my o my.
would you look at
those potatoes.
i am more of a
seventies girl, she
says, ignoring me.
disco and make up,
polyester dresses
and big hair
like farrah,
blowed dried
into a nice frosty
meringue. i know
the words to all
the songs, donna
summers is my idol.
i even know how
to do the hustle, then
she gets up and
starts dancing. come on
she says, you know
this dance, you're old.
my hip hurts, you
tell her, plus i'm hungry.
maybe later, okay?