I will not wear the baggy trousers of old age.

I refuse to accept the rumpled seat and saggy knees.

Nor will I adopt the windcheater jacket

with its collar-rolled hood

to mask the slouch of advancing years.

And the mirror-shined lace-up shoes

will remain on the High Street shelf.

 

For me, it will be jeans,

tee shirts and trainers,

even at the withering onset of winter,

for my genes are those

of the Woodstock generation.

 

And I still see myself as that.

The music and dance have stayed with me.

So even when my joints are too stiff to dance,

I will turn the volume up to eleven,

dancing in my head like I was nineteen.

For I am not old,

and I will not wear the baggy trousers of old age.