When I'm ancient and broken down from wear and tear
I'll wear heliotrope and other forgotten colors like perse.
I'll waste away pillaged without worth in an old chair
With cold hands and everyday I'll say, "Get off my shitty lawn!"
I'll remain tired in the old chair until we become one
And I'll eat prunes so I can take a dump on my shitty lawn.
I'll also board up all of my windows, with zombie fear
And I'll build a moat and go out wearing only a trenchcoat.
I'll invent stories about my youth and talk to plants
And show my poetry to my ceiling fans.
And I'll tell the rain about my pain.
Then I'll smash the flowers they try to save.

I'll buy a cat and turn it into a welcome mat(perhaps a hat)
And I'll eat prunes so I can take a dump on my shitty lawn.
Or other laxatives and then I'll howl at the moon at dawn.
And I'll keep all my junk in the trunk of my car
that's been broken down since 2024.

Then I'll die because no one thought to keep me dry
After I fall into my own moat wearing only a trenchcoat.
So I'll grin as I flip off children and curse,
because people will think, 'He's just senile.'
Otherwise I'd start right now!

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James Dye writes Dubuque, IA.