When I am old,
I shall fudge.
I’ll be like my mother
And wear leather gloves
To protect my tissue papered
Hands and I too will do things
Like hoist a heavy hide-a -bed
Up the stairs,
I’ll also rototill the garden with a
Giant machine that chews into the earth
And needs a monstrous heave to dislodge,
Taking off with me in tow.
My gloves will protect my skin when i do things like
Haul fifty pound chunks of metal
To the metal pile.
And the gloves will keep my brittle nails
Semi-clean so I can have tea with the ladies,
Just before I shingle the rooftop.
Age be damned,
I’m not going down.