By Hazel Bond
Now I am an old woman I shan’t wear purple
Nor shall I wear a red hat that doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me.
Purple makes my skin look like I have jaundice
And hats of any colour are anathema to me.
I have to wear a hearing aid because
What I hear is Summa Bin Laden when
What they are saying is “thunder and lightning.”
Now I go to bed at one or two in the morning
And sleep all afternoon, which charges my batteries
for going to bed at one or two the next morning.
Soon I shall swear loudly, instead of under my breath,
at the packers who put all the heavy items in one basket
with tissues and marshmallows in the other.
And I shall send terrible curses to those who send me
hours of time-wasting junk on my e-mail,
and especially to those who send sentimental
or superstitious stuff that has to be returned to them
and sent on to ten other people.
If they have already read it why in heaven’s name
Do they want it back ten times from ten more people?
Are they afraid that one day their inbox will have nothing in it?
It is time now too, to trip with my walking stick
Those who stand talking at the off-ramp of an escalator
When I am trying to step off of it.
And with the privilege of age I now write non-rhyming poetry
And inflict it on the few good friends
Who haven’t departed this life before me.