I had such fun playing with 'The Naming of Parts' a few weeks ago (you can scroll down or find it here) that I thought I'd share my reworking of Roger McGough's Let me Die a Youngman's Death. For those of you who don't recall the original, it's here.
It was written in the 1960s - when men didn't notice that they might not be speaking for women (I know, many are still like that) so I wanted to give it a feminist perspective. (Some of you may recognise it - it's been on my website for a while).
LET ME DIE A YOUNG WOMAN'S DEATH (After Roger McGough).
Let me die a young woman's death;not an old, dribbling-in-my-tea death,not a leaking-in-the-sheets deathnot a hold-my-handand longing-for-the-end death.
But when I'm 73,and with dicky ticker,may I climb Kanchenjunga andgasp my last in thinHimalayan air.
Or when I'm 94,in Soho, may I falland break my neck when dressedin mini skirt and sparkly sandals with six inch heelsand fuck-me painted on my nails.
Or when I'm 104,and banned from travellingmay I stow away with Queen Elizabethand be caught stealingchampagne and last night's canapésand made to walk the plank.
Let me die a young woman's death;a let-us-dance-into-the-long-goodnight death;a hey-hey, you-youget-off-of-my-cloud death.