As a girl, I had no mobile phone or email
There was only waiting for the phone to ring
With the deadly passive patience of the female;
But technology assists my final fling.
To grow old wearing purple: that’s for bishops,
I’d rather see my vital force revive,
I don’t care for summer gloves and brandy piss-ups,
In aging, there are other ways to thrive.
If I wake up dead, I’ll know I was in error,
My judgment hasty, immature and rash,
But in spite of some anxiety and terror
Like Cyrano, I could exit with panache.