I try to get my act together but the road is all uphill
And I am old today.
Tomorrow will be better so they say
But how can they
And it wouldn’t really matter if I didn’t have the chatter
Of the dos and don’ts and shoulds that lurk
And niggle from the days when I
Was young and far too dutiful.
How can that be? You think.
A bolshie bird like that was never dutiful.
But there, you see.
A shrinking violet, me –
Or possibly a shrinking stink weed but
The outcome is the same.
Rebellion only comes
With printers’ ink.
I have a list with nothing ticked
And every time I turn around
There’s more to add.
I’m very bad.