Turtle shell granny hunched up in a hump
Jiggles and jumps when the train hits a bump
Or maybe she’s fidgety from doing a bump
Dabbing up each and every last crumb,
Life’s too short to not have some fun.
Hair like cactus bristles, dry and brittle
Colourless like limited edition skittles.
A head of dead coral, perfectly coiffured
Before her morning coffee,
I’m sure it is, it must be,
Bet she stops when coughing
Wears a vaguely worried look
That wouldn’t be out of place on any grandparents’ face
Anxious and apprehensive, too many screens
Too much tapping, not enough nattering,
Gallivanting or gossiping, golly goshing
Or soft joke joshing.
Either that or way too much boshing,
But what do I know, I ain’t a boffin!
Ankle biting pleats expose her feet
To the meaty carriage draft,
So solid it was probably crafted in clay
By ghost to a song..
Regardless of that, she whistles along
Never one to belong
Especially in those plastic white daps
But damn sure she’s always keen on the last laugh.