When I am old

When I am old…

I will waft through sunlit rooms
in fun-packed shoes
and sport a batwing like a pro.

I’ll be draped with chunky beads
and memories.
My eyes will spark, my words will flow.

I’ll wear my glasses on a cord.
My hair, fresh-poured,
will breeze like my contented muse.

But I won’t have cats –
stuff that,
will their sneezy fur and toxic poos.
No I won’t have cats.
Stuff that.
Meow. I refuse.

 

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Photo by Ella Jardim on Unsplash