Poem: What’s Within – McCaw Media

Written to the prompt I is for Iron

What’s Within

I iron creases from a shirt and think about my skin:

You see it creped and wrinkled; you don’t see what’s within.

You see my shoulders rounded; you see my face is red;

But you’ve got no idea what’s going on inside my head…

I don’t want to do the ironing, wash the curtains or make jam;

I want to grab the world’s lapels and tell it who I am.

I don’t want to dust and hoover; I don’t want to clean the loo;

I want to swim with dolphins and take trips to Kathmandu.

I don’t want to watch those quiz shows from a rise and recline chair;

I want to go to festivals with multi-coloured hair.

I don’t want to go on day trips; I don’t want to mow the lawn;

I want to drive a jet ski and climb the Matterhorn.

I want to learn to windsurf, have a band and sail a yacht;

Don’t want somebody telling me my eyesight’s gone to pot.

I don’t want to go to garden centres viewing shrubs and trees;

I want to run through forests; skinny-dip in turquoise seas.

I don’t want to wash the windows; I don’t want to keep things neat;

I want to dance on tables with no corns upon my feet.

Don’t want to wear wide-fitting shoes with Velcro straps – that’s right,

I want to wear stilettos, give myself some extra height;

I want to show my shapely calves; wear skirts above the knee;

I want to hoick my bust up so it’s back where it should be.

I want to go to restaurants for breakfast, dinner, tea;

I want to go an hour and half without needing a wee.

The tragedy of ageing is: inside each OAP

Is a lively, eager twenty-something raging to break free.

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