Day 3: Gloria

I'm glad you're missing this.
Not only the orange menace at his worst
(The typos, Glo. Your head would explode.)
but this especially.

I imagine you in your spry days, 70, 72,
waiting at the costume shop door
to sew more masks -- the most masks! --
wit and fingers at the ready,

and having to send you away,
safe from the kids and the coeds,
to a pile of mystery books
and a few bottles of Riesling.

Whose sordid college love stories would you listen to?
Who would you wow with flashes
of your bellybutton ring?
Who would keep you young?