When We Get Old Poem by Patti Masterman

When we get old, we know what we like;
Don't have to pretend to correctness anymore
Everyone already knows us too well for that.
I like Summertime; in the highest soprano
You can find, and a dozen times in a row-
More is better, when it comes to that;
I'd die to that song if I had the choice
And I'd run straight into Porgy's arms, at the end
Instead of that gaunt, white plaster drugstore angel.

(written to Kathleen Battle - Porgy and Bess - Summertime)