Poetry

Let's not get too deep and meaningful about this poem. But I had such fun writing it, I thought it should have a turn in the limelight on this site.

LET ME DIE A YOUNG WOMAN'S DEATH (After Roger McGough).

Let me die a young woman's death;

not an old, dribbling-in-my-tea death,

not a leaking-in-the-sheets death

not a hold-my-hand

and longing-for-the-end death.

But when I'm 73,

and with dicky ticker,

may I climb Kanchenjunga and

gasp my last in thin

Himalayan air.

Or when I'm 94,

in Soho, may I fall

and break my neck when dressed

in mini skirt and sparkly sandals with six inch heels

and fuck-me painted on my nails.

Or when I'm 104,

and banned from travelling

may I stow away with Queen Elizabeth

and be caught stealing

champagne and last night's canap├ęs

and made to walk the plank.

Let me die a young woman's death;

a let-us-dance-into-the-long-goodnight death;

a hey-hey, you-you

get-off-of-my-cloud death