When I turn 100
After the cake,
sprinkled with patronising remarks
She’s doing so well! She’s so sprightly!
I shall manoeuvre myself outside,
whether with cool cockatoo-head carved stick
or wheelchair. I shall pour a whisky (large)
and light a cigarette, my first since 1986.
How sweet it will taste, my long-lost friend,
abandoned purely for health those many years.
Maybe they’ll be illegal by then,
but there’ll still be outlaw motorcycle gangs,
willing to supply the demand of a gran
(will they ride a whisper of e-bikes then?).
I’ll suck the smoke deep into my lungs,
and anyone who moans about cancer
or emphysema will get a chuckle.
Age will free me from responsibility.
I’ll clutch my carton like a prize.
PS Cottier
PS Cottier 