I don’t math for spit,
as you, little sister,
well know, and

though neither of us
is losing her hair (thank
the goddesses of tresses),

you can’t be that old
because you still look
45ish, while I’m rocking

my old white-haired
self at 66. And besides,
I have photos showing

your cute little girl
blondness that I swear
feels like yesterday.

And sure, you retired
from your three-plus-
decade day job into

full grandmahood,
but you are way more
youthful than either of

our grandmas. So phooey
on the numbers. No
matter what the song

says, we certainly still
need you. We thank
you for so kindly,

so often, feeding us.
Let us shower you with
all kinds of adoration

because you are the
bestest, and, oh, yes,
we still need you,

please let us feed you
(everybody sing!)
now you’re 64.