In his dotage, Andy Warhol -
often wore white training shoes -
there's footage of him in New York,
scavenging for cookie jars.
That made me think - how should I look
when gearing up for my decline?
For baby boomers never die,
they just adopt a further style.
Like skippering a racing yacht -
old bones moving in new clothes,
or tied in an old people's home,
to a chair, with garden hose.
Eventually we snuff our TV's,
and catch ourselves as we exhale,
our carpet slipper treads the stair,
our fingers feel its glassy rail.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem