A Prediction

‘When I am old, I will wear purple!’

– A Warning, Jenny Joseph

When I am old, I will degenerate.

My joints will moan and bitch, and getting out

of bed will be a trial. All those years

of healthy eating, going to the pool,

and cycling to work will so have been

in vain. You can’t hold back the foetid tide

of geriatric decay. Sixty isn’t

the new forty, despite the narcissistic

delusions harboured by arse-brained journalists.

Mealtimes will be a bowl of pills: there won’t

be room for any real food. The day’s

greatest adventure? Making it as far as

the television room, where, slumped in front

of Netflix, sleep will interrupt the narratives.

The melancholy strains of afternoon

will kill my spirit further, when I see

that yet another day has somehow slipped my

grasp. I’ll wonder how I ever got so old

so fast. The night will bring its old regrets,

and sleep will be my practice for the grave.

Did someone call my name? No? Never mind.

When I am old, I will die...