by Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which 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.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens . . .
. . .
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 purple.
[caveat: this is not the whole poem but you can buy posters here
Now I’m in opposite mode, not needing to make up for the sobriety of my youth, and if I had a pension it would go on chocolate not brandy. And NOT, NEVER going to walk around in a red hat. But I do feel I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m going to do the important things and express myself, as
Young Sprout came along for the ride, mainly because I was on grandma duty and felt this was too important to miss. I’ve attended protests off and on since my childhood, although I was about nine on my first one. Although I thought he wasn’t absorbing very much, at the dinner table he started chanting “Go, go, daffy,” and now recognizes two dictators by their photos.