Pulling Up One's Socks
D Dónall Dempsey
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The Future had come
to visit.
It knocked politely
on the door and
without waiting
for as much as
a by your leave
invited itself in.
'Come on in why doncha? '
my sarcasm lost on it.
'A word if I may...'
The Future said
'I know this is not
the done thing but...'
I noticed its sentences
never ended in a full stop
always an ellipsis...;
The room was full
of Donalls
the many mes I had
yet to be.
'As you can see...'
one of my Future selves
admonished me
'We, that is us, we
are not happy...'
'Oh! ' I said facetiously,
'We is not...is we? '
This Royal We business was
beginning to bug me.
All the other Future mes
nodded in agreement
simultaneously.
'You go on the way you are...'
a me 20 years from now
spluttered in
indignation
'There will be no me! '
'And so it is that We
have come to....'
Here it paused
to find the right word
'Have a quiet word
with you...'
it coughed and ahemed
'Self to self
(so to speak) ...'
They chanted as if
they were a Greek Chorus
'WE WANT YOU TO PULL UP
YOUR SOCKS...! '
'That's it? '
I said.
'Just that! '
'Just that..! '
the Future sighed
&
left
me to get on
with it.
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