THERE GOES THE NEIGHBOURHOOD. By Bryn Fortey

Hi cousin

I would offer my endeffector

But shaking hands with me

Might mash your fingers to pulp

My locomotion device

Doesn’t know its own strength

And you are so puny 

So I will keep my manipulators

Dormant at my sides

If I can be of any help

Just knock my door 

My sensors are always active

Keeping my computerised controller

Fully informed and up to date

I would ask you in

But my regular visitors

Like to choose from selections

Of grade A oils

And I guess you are more

A tea or coffee sort of guy

Take no notice

Of the young ones, my friend

They mean no harm

And it’s only chanting

Have you heard their latest?

“All things must come to pass

  Flesh is weak, flesh is farce

  Just you kiss my plastic arse”

Sorry about that

Bryn Fortey is a veteran writer from Wales in the UK. Widely published

over the years, he has had two collections published by The Alchemy 

Press, both featuring a mix of short stories and poetry. He is grateful that

in old age he is still able to put pen to paper and finger to keyboard