"No Purple, Please," Mary Alice Henkel

NO PURPLE, PLEASE

By: Mary Alice Henkel

When I am an old woman.

I may not choose to wear purple

Or learn to spit.

I will, instead, learn to clutter.

I plan to drop my coat on the nearest chair,

And leave it.

Along with last week’s unfolded laundry.

I will find joy in stacking last week’s (and months) daily press

And unopened junk mail

Left hither and yon on top of, and in boxes and half opened drawers.

I will continue my clutter in the kitchen.

Yesterday’s dishes will be soaking in the sink

With an array of well stained coffee mugs.

I will bask in my clutter.

And will hire someone to tidy up once a week or so.

When I am an old woman.

I will sit enthroned upon an antique chair,

At a card table used for a make-shift desk.

In the midst of the clutter.

I will take no notice of the one who cleans for me.

And I will choose to ignore her bemused smile.

I will detach myself from hearing aids.

And will sit undisturbed by the cleaning which goes on around me.

I will calmly indulge in the lost art of letter writing.

And who knows? In the future I may even learn to spit. 

(2013 Poetry Contest 2nd Honorable Mention, Lucas County)