Winging it

One by one they’re flung
by an enormous catapult.
The elephants land with only a small, distant thud.

Is this too much?
Metaphors should be savored—
Stirred slowly, gently, not shaken.
Elephants, Darling, fling far too easily
as we rapidly thrust toward middle age.

Forgotten promises.
Loves unkempt.
Tossed resentments, larger than life.
This is not your mother’s Almost-Forty
or what granny always said would happen.

Cry, “Freedom! Incoming!”
unabashed.