When I get old

When I grow old I’ll complain at length about the ways of the day
to anyone left long enough to listen.

I’ll wear stylish clothes
makeup
heels
perfume - something suitably musky
I’ll eat at the best restaurants
Go to the theatre
the opera
And secretly smoke
rollies.
And only let my closest confidantes in on the secret.

I’ll watch adaptations of Agatha Christie
and every program on the ABC on a Sunday night.

I’ll tell my friends and family that I don’t drink
then sneak the occasional sly glass of wine
only publicly partaking at Christmas  

I’ll reminisce about my long-gone youth
(not all the stories will be true).
I’ll live in a crumbling mansion.
I’ll not-so-silently judge the youth of the day
And I’ll push into supermarket queues
Thinking I have lived long enough to garner such a privilege.

I’ll be a legend
A survivor
A historical character.

Sometimes I think I can hardly wait
until I get old.