Warning

(with deep, heartfelt, SINCERE apologies to Jenny Joseph)

When I am an old woman, I shall wear neon pink
With orange socks that don't go, and don't suit me
And I shall spend my pension on Diet Coke and fingerless gloves
And power tools, and say we've no money for humus.
I shall sit down on the escalators when I'm tired
And download free software from the net and set off car alarms
And brandish my sword-cane at small yap-dogs
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall wear mismatched sneakers in the rain
And pick the 'shrooms from other people's stashes
And learn to shoot.

You can wear hawaiin shirts and grab more ass
And satisfy three women at a go
Or only use your vibrator for a week
And hoard lasers and matchbooks and dildos and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that fit our job descriptions
And pay the rent and comb our hair at least once a day
And set good examples for future generations of weirdos.
We must communicate with mundanes and watch CNN.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and suprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear neon.

[NOTE to reader - SEEK out Jenny Joseph's poetry. It is truly worth ready and my paltry rip-off of her work is merely homage to a wonderful poet.]