Red Hatters Poem

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 the

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 will 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.

                  By Jenny Joseph