When I am an old woman I shall wear NOTHING!
I’ll carry a towel and let my wrinkles show.
And I shall spend my pension on good wine and beach towels.
And hiking sandals, and say we’ve no money for clothes.
I shall sit down in the sand when I am tired
And gobble up desserts at potlucks and press for hugs
And run my mouth at naturist gatherings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go without my slicker in the rain
And wear in my hair the wild flowers I’ve found
And learn Akido.
You can wear nothing at all, grow more fat
And lie in the sun all day; or the shade
Or go to all the naturist gatherings
And give your clothes to Mission instead of hoarding them.
But now we must have clothes that keep us covered
And pay our rent and not moon anyone in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must meet friends for dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So more people can understand and appreciate
And enjoy their wrinkles openly, too.
By Marilyn R. Lovell
(inspired by Jenny Joseph’s poem “Warning…. When I am an Old Woman I shall Wear Purple”)
