Mrs. Who



A futuristic spoof story poetry. Ever hear yourself saying 'it wasn't like this when I was younger'? Well, Mrs.Who knows exactly how you feel :)


Her eyes are sunken

Her frame slightly hunched.

A passing child sneers at her hobbling

down the street, her bags crunched.


Time had aged her beyond her hope

though her mind remained strong

her body could no longer cope.

Every step met a sharp intake of breath.


Frail bones crack under the pressure of

her Sainsbury shopping bags.

Plastic ripping through her paper-thin flesh,

she does not grumble, nor moan or nag.


No one will help, they never do.

Left alone, no family in sight.

Husband, wife, daughter, son? “who?’

She would reply, when a kind soul might ask.


Flying cars whoosh above her head,

She hobbles and sways down the lonely street.

‘It wasn’t like this in my day’ she would mumble

as she walked past the rotting dead; a large heap.


They’re off, living their own lives not

sparing a care for the little old lady who

grumbles and stares at the ‘needless

development, plastering the news.


She unlocks her door, with an old fashioned key.

Shuts out the world she no longer knows.

Stacks away her shopping, stands back to see.

Smiling she turns to a chair, drops in the cushions.


She closes her eyes, remembering a time

when chocolate was a pound apiece

and she still had her partner in crime.

Only in sleep does her soul find peace.

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