Playing with poetry

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 death

not a hold-my-hand

and longing-for-the-end death.

But when I'm 73,

and with dicky ticker,

may I climb Kanchenjunga and

gasp my last in thin

Himalayan air.

Or when I'm 94,

in Soho, may I fall

and break my neck when dressed

in mini skirt and sparkly sandals with six inch heels

and fuck-me painted on my nails.

Or when I'm 104,

and banned from travelling

may I stow away with Queen Elizabeth

and be caught stealing

champagne and last night's canapés

and 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-you

get-off-of-my-cloud death.