by Prochytes [Reviews - 6]

  • All Ages
  • None
  • Poetry

Author's Notes:
No spoilers for anything. Deeply indebted, of course, to Jenny Joseph's poem of the same name, which needs to be read first for it to make any sense. Originally posted on LJ in 2008.

When I am an old TARDIS I shall wear a police box
With a bright green lining, which does not suit me.
And I shall squeeze my roundels like acne into black-heads.
I shall potter along in the way of Mongol hordes
And flop myself down at the Big Bang for a sulk
And groove disreputably to the Cloister Bell.
I shall like my floors well grilled
And corrupt impressionable supernovae.

You can plait your cables into dreadlocks
Or become blowzy and big-bellied with all the rooms
Which seemed like a good idea at the time
And forget where you put the swimming-pool.

But now we must conduct ourselves decorously
And trot in crocodile from Now to Then
And be prim and proper under burnt orange skies
With a dress code of wimple white.

But maybe I ought to get into practice
So that the Universe is not too perplexed
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear a police box.