Fanny By Mike Watts

Fused, inside her fossil head, Battling to unravel The way she's faced, A rare Victorian, Whose busy family Just can't be arsed. Beside her bed: A faded soldier, Two black banana's, And a budgie cage - To Let. Her sweaty nephew Once told me She used to babysit Amy Johnson, Could fart for England, And that the next telegram Would be her fifth. Poor Fanny: As another afternoon Spills into the room, Her fog thickens. Nobody's coming today. And after four more pills She's wheeled before A thumping 36in plasma, That might as well Be off.

Copyright Mike Watts 2008

Comments System Prototype Version 1.0 by Mo

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