PULLING UP ONE'S SOCKS

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.