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A collaboration over too much coffee.
coffee and pen

21 April, 2005

Old woman

This poem was written in response to Dan's poem "Bazaar".

And Truth my friend is an ugly crone
at the crossroads, watching her sisters
paint their faces, make eyes at men
while she tends her warts and blisters,
uncaring, knowing that for every ten
that they snared she'd be lucky to get one

who'd take her home. Fair above all,
she doesn't blame her lot, nor birth:
this was the bargain she drew,
the price she paid for her worth.
Besides, fools weren't extinct she knew:
some starry-eyed ass would fall

for her, honour-proud or bent on suicide.
That lust was something she understood,
though slow to quench. Let them stay
the course to know how good
she was, that she was no common lay:
she'd be there when all the tarts had died.

***

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3 Comments:

Anonymous ritu said...

"When I am an old woman
I shall wear purple
With a red hat that 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"

Extracted from Warning by Jenny Joseph, Selected Poems (Bloodaxe Books, 1992 )

Quoted in Good Housekeeping, May 2004 and coincidently chanced upon it this morning...getting old shouldn't be so sad!

Cheerio,
Ritu

21 April, 2005 05:27  
Blogger livinghigh said...

i loved the idea that u drew out. melancholic, yes, but still... there's an irony out there: "she'd be there when all the tarts had died."

chuckle.

21 April, 2005 16:38  
Blogger annie said...

Have said it before, and saying it again... nice

26 April, 2005 17:44  

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