Ladies Who Lunch

I slowed in traffic beside the light blue (blessed virgin mother blue)

1983 Caddy Coupe de Ville convertible with about 22,371.43 original miles,

white wall tires and brakes too

driven by a woman whose blue to the wrist summer cotton gloves matched her blue rinse that complemented her blue leisure suit.

She wore it with the new white Penney’s polo shirt she got on sale yesterday for the occasion

along with the white walkabouts she got in the mail from the Wissota Trader catalog.

You remember the sky blue leisure suit:

it’s the one she bought in Gimbel’s, not Macy’s, because their staff are too snooty or

in Bloomingdales because they are simply impossible. Really!

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the leisure suit…

it’s the one she still breaks out every summer when she and the girls hit the road

with the top down.

They take lunch, similarly attired, in outfits that still fit perfectly

unlike guys who suck in their guts and then

squeeze into their old Army uniforms every Veteran’s Day,

thump their chests and say

“See, kiddo, I can still do it” the buttons giving way just enough

to prevent their passing out from a lack of blood flow.

I smile at the girls, tip my helmet, give them a thumbs up and elicit a giggle or two

even as they try to figure out if the music they’re listening to features whistling or if

it’s their hearing aides accompanying Frank Sinatra Live on the cassette tape.

They could eat anywhere but prefer Red Lobster at the mall because the parking’s easier. It’s not the price either because they took their money out of the market years ago after their husbands died and then bought gold when it was low.