On Aging
This post by the Sage really got me thinking. Since I just turned 35 (and it hit me pretty hard), I started to think how I would act when I am old. I mean, older.
I used to be quite the poet in my days of youth, but have since given it up for smarmy, sarcastic blog entries. But the thought of aging inspired me to write my first poem in ages. It's completely original and not at all satirical. Really.
When I Am An Old Man, I Shall Not Wear Purple; I Shall Wear As Little Clothing As Possible
When I am an old man, I shall not wear purple; I shall wear as little clothing as possible.
I will scour the mall clad only in a Spagetti-O stained t-shirt, Vote For Pedro boxer shorts, and black motorcycle boots.
I shall spend an unhealthy amount of time staring into the windows of Victoria Secret, Frederick's of Hollywood, and Hot Topic (hey, some goth chicks are smokin' too).
And I shall spend my time ogling women 1/4 my age in their electric blue halter tops (they'll be back in style by 2048) and spend my pension on Southern Comfort, hair weaves, classic movies starring Kate Beckinsale, and steak knives and say we've no money for Metamucil and "the little blue pill".
I shall sit down wherever I want when I am tired
and scratch myself wherever I am itchy
and drive my car at speeds that suit only me
and yell at the youth that they have no idea how hard it was back in the computer age
and make up for stupidity of my youth by knowing more than anyone else.
I shall go out nigh-naked in the rain
and pick the flowers for the wife in other people's gardens
and care not to control my bladder whilst trodding on their shrubbery.
You can wear terrible light blue plaid shirts with Bermuda shorts and dark dress socks hiked up to your wrinkly and knobby knees
and eat dinner at 3:30 in the afternoon and incessantly watch episodes of Matlock before you drift off to sleep before the 6 0'clock news.
You can hoard old newspapers and magazines "because they will be worth money someday" and savor your three squares consisting of Cream of Wheat, prune juice, and Geritol and pray for "regularity".
But now I must have as few clothes as possible
and mooch off of my kids and swear in the street if I fucking want to.
I'll only have friends to dinner if they bring the booze and read only Maxim.
(OK, maybe the occasional Cosmo so I'll know what the wife is thinking)
I'll continue to eat baby back ribs with my original teeth and emerge, triumphant, from any bathroom, with the Maxim (or Cosmo) under my arm as a waft of Lysol emerges in my wake.
Occasionally, I will feign senility and go without the Vote for Pedro boxer shorts
and will grin mischievously as the young women with the electric blue halter tops scurry in fear (while still looking back in amazement)
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear as little clothing as possible.
Too sexy for my walker,
- Dim.
I used to be quite the poet in my days of youth, but have since given it up for smarmy, sarcastic blog entries. But the thought of aging inspired me to write my first poem in ages. It's completely original and not at all satirical. Really.
When I Am An Old Man, I Shall Not Wear Purple; I Shall Wear As Little Clothing As Possible
When I am an old man, I shall not wear purple; I shall wear as little clothing as possible.
I will scour the mall clad only in a Spagetti-O stained t-shirt, Vote For Pedro boxer shorts, and black motorcycle boots.
I shall spend an unhealthy amount of time staring into the windows of Victoria Secret, Frederick's of Hollywood, and Hot Topic (hey, some goth chicks are smokin' too).
And I shall spend my time ogling women 1/4 my age in their electric blue halter tops (they'll be back in style by 2048) and spend my pension on Southern Comfort, hair weaves, classic movies starring Kate Beckinsale, and steak knives and say we've no money for Metamucil and "the little blue pill".
I shall sit down wherever I want when I am tired
and scratch myself wherever I am itchy
and drive my car at speeds that suit only me
and yell at the youth that they have no idea how hard it was back in the computer age
and make up for stupidity of my youth by knowing more than anyone else.
I shall go out nigh-naked in the rain
and pick the flowers for the wife in other people's gardens
and care not to control my bladder whilst trodding on their shrubbery.
You can wear terrible light blue plaid shirts with Bermuda shorts and dark dress socks hiked up to your wrinkly and knobby knees
and eat dinner at 3:30 in the afternoon and incessantly watch episodes of Matlock before you drift off to sleep before the 6 0'clock news.
You can hoard old newspapers and magazines "because they will be worth money someday" and savor your three squares consisting of Cream of Wheat, prune juice, and Geritol and pray for "regularity".
But now I must have as few clothes as possible
and mooch off of my kids and swear in the street if I fucking want to.
I'll only have friends to dinner if they bring the booze and read only Maxim.
(OK, maybe the occasional Cosmo so I'll know what the wife is thinking)
I'll continue to eat baby back ribs with my original teeth and emerge, triumphant, from any bathroom, with the Maxim (or Cosmo) under my arm as a waft of Lysol emerges in my wake.
Occasionally, I will feign senility and go without the Vote for Pedro boxer shorts
and will grin mischievously as the young women with the electric blue halter tops scurry in fear (while still looking back in amazement)
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear as little clothing as possible.
Too sexy for my walker,
- Dim.
posted by Dim at 6/20/2006 09:15:00 PM
5 Comments:
really well done, dim. if i had written a poem instead, it would have been much like yours.
i find the older i get, the more i understand that kind of behaviour, and the more attractive it appears. to just say "fuck it" to the world of rules and clocks and propriety. and wear as few clothes as possible.
Dim, you're awesome! Write a book.
That was great! Loved it.
In the year 2048, those Vote for Pedro boxers will be pretty old, huh.
Nice one!
Sort of like a perverted Dr. Seuss... With a little less rhyme and a bit more smart-assery!
You are a genius.
Post a Comment
<< Home