There may be a Grandma Moses out there
Ready to burst out at eighty-something.
It won’t be me.
It’s possible to stumble into love.
Some may even be invited to bed.
It won’t be me.
I have hours and volumes of memories
Rattling around my tired old brain pan.
That would be me.
That’s my story and I was able to walk
And write and screw and laugh more than enough.
Enough for me.
I’m tired of competing with young chicks
Who will do anything to please a man.
I don’t have time.
I’m tired of trying to write new plays,
When all they want is retreaded movies.
Write for myself.
I am retired, and maybe it’s time
To stop worrying about making sales.
Of ass and plays.
Oh, I didn’t drop the market, Sweetheart .
The market dropped me, but don't worry, Kid.
I’ll make it fun.
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