Transformation?

 

I was a scruffy child, a tatterdemalion,
always told to “go and change –
you can’t go out like that.”
A not-much-smarter old lady now –
comfort prized way above style –
Mum looks down from heaven and sighs
“Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.”

And another change:
La barbe de Grandmère,*
torn out with an ouch
and a wince of hot wax today,
so that grandson can kiss
her newly-soft cheek
when he comes visiting on Friday.

*Grandma’s beard.
written for Margo Roby’s Tuesday Tryout.  She wants us to work on synonyms for change.  My mind strayed, as usual!