My response to Warning, by Jenny Joseph.
Now I am old, do I still wear purple?
Do I leave the gaudy hats at home?
Shall I cease to buy the Tia Maria, the cds?
Shall I leave my sandals to rot, eat margarine
And keep walking however tired I am?
Shall I no longer laugh, and joke, shall I
No longer share the smiles that are all
I have ever had to offer to anyone?
I have never much wanted to pick flowers, I do
Not now. I only spit at magpies.
I wear old -t-shirts, and grow more fat
I eat olives not sausages, and pastrami,
And only mushrooms for a week;
I hoard books, books I can no longer read.
So, for so long, it seems, I have been wrong
And I should have been setting a good example
To my children, who are rebels just like I
Have always been. You may come to dinner if you want,
We will have coffee, and get drunk.
So I think I will not change.
The people who know me would be shocked and surprised
If I suddenly stopped wearing purple.
© 2ndwitch, 08/04/14
Warning
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
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