I shall wear purple with a red hat
that does not suit me
and I shall spend my pension on brandy
and summer gloves and satin sandals,
and say we’ve no money for butter.
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I shall sit down on the pavement
when I am 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.
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Soon I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick flowers
from other people’s gardens
and learn to spit.
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You can wear terrible shirts
and grow more fat,
and eat bread and a pickle for a week
and hoard pens and pencils
and beermats and things in boxes.
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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 will have friends to dinner
and read the papers.
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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.
Jenny Joseph
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