Oh let me die a young woman's death

I've been reading old Roger McGough poems recently,  and came across his "Let me die a young man's death". It started me thinking about my own death,  and hopes for old age, which turned out to be wildly different from his!!!!  But thanks for the inspiration Roger. 


Oh let me die a young woman's death
Give me dignity and poise at my final breath,
There's no rush mind, for the final page
I want to die at a ripe old age.

But not gasping and scared in the middle aisle of Lidl,
Or reaching for the Tena in a pool of my own piddle,
Nor gradually fading away,  in a comfy armchair,
But still vigorous,  sharp, entirely "all there".

Let me die in the throes of wild passion,
Or dressed in the latest flattering fashion,
While baking a cake or taking a hike,
Or in the gym on the exercise bike.

My ancient voice still strong and loud,
No crumbling spine, but tall and proud,
Still able to do a full forward bend
Flexible and composed until the end.

And let them say I led a full loving life
Twice a mother,  twice a wife,
I took a few lovers, had fewer regrets,
I gave my love freely to people and pets.

And when they look back at the memorial party
May they remember me happy, hale and hearty,
Let there be joy, no tearful hand wringing,
Just laughter, lots of booze,  and really bad singing.

 
© Copyright 2021. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Leave taking

I've been to two funerals recently. I suppose it's inevitable that their frequency will increase as I get older,  and my peer group ages alongside me.  It makes you consider your own mortality, and prompts a resolve to use the days left to you more wisely.  But somehow you never do, preferring to think there's still enough time left.   The death of an elderly uncle is easier to bear. It's possible to reflect on a long life, well lived,  To remember the fun you had when you were small, How he made you shriek until you were breathless,  To consider the grace of his faith, which eased his end.  The death of my sunny, fun-filled friend Is much harder to balance. We are all too aware She had too few years to enjoy her joyful take on life,  Will miss out on too many evenings full of laughter,  No longer guide her grandchildren into adulthood. Both deaths celebrated as a release from pain.  Both lives celebrated as lives lived well.  We carry their memories home with us,   To
Read more

Kindness

Day 25: '  write a poem based on the “ Proust Questionnaire ,” a set of questions drawn from Victorian-era parlor games, and  adapted by modern interviewers . You could choose to answer the whole questionnaire, and then write a poem based on your answers, answer just a few, or just write a poem that’s based on the questions. You could even write a poem in the form of an entirely new Proust Questionnaire.' Typically I read the prompt in a rush before going swimming, seized on the word 'virtue' and composed something while in the pool.  It was only when I got back home that I realised the question was about the most overrated virtue.  Too late, I've written instead about the most underrated virtue: kindness.  It's hidden in the little things That brighten up each day. It's in the chores done without prompting,  The coins you save for my after-swim hairdryer,  The morning coffee brewed with a smile , The blanket shared on chilly evenings. It's in the well
Read more

Dont go to India

I wrote this after a toilet stop in the way from Jaipur to Varaneeshya.  Don't go to India  not if you worry about squatting over a hole in the ground, with no running water. not if you worry about hawkers thrusting their wares in your face, "300, 200, 100 only". not if you worry about children caked in street filth, tugging at your sleeve, your heart. not if you worry about rubbish, plastic bottles, bags, packaging, strewn across the streets. But if you can make peace with all that  you will find beauty wherever you look. ©  Copyright 2023. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
Read more