Poetry | Writing Prompt

Growing Older

I always planned to grow old sassily.

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Growing old sassily
was something I planned.
Always wanted to be,
just, silly old me —
Partying till late,
dancing away
till the wee hours of the mornin’ —
It was something I thought I would always do.

Life’s carousel had other plans,

one day,
I realised my beauty sleep
is worth my weight in gold.
Dad’s old wrinkly hands,
popped from my jumper*
staring me in the face —
The grey-bearded man in the mirror,
was a chap I didn’t know.
Who the hell are you, I asked.
When did that happen, eh?

His sad tired eyes blinked,
crow’s feet around his eyes
cackled and contorted humorously —
I’m you, you old fool,
he said.
You’re not me!
That’s not me,
I declared —