Short Fiction

Swaying beneath a skyless sky
careworn, exhausted and cold
eyeing a crow with a lachrymose eye
and feeling especially old
sat Albert the time bandit.

"I come on a mission from god," he said.
to his cawing airborne spectator.
"So don't try to peck me or shit on my head,
I'm your saviour not your dictator."

Singled from billions, gifted, unique
this swashbuckling temporal detective
hobbled unsteadily onto his feet
assaulting the air with invective.

"Listen, you bastards! I can't hang about
the earth faces threats of disaster
worser than famine or fire or drought
or dodgy Italian pasta.

We're all in the grip of a heinous crime
so I'll get right down to the facts.
In several hundred million years
Thatcher is bringing in Poll Tax!

So take heed you lizards and wizards and bears
and you, you great fluttering percy!
don't dare go extinct in a couple of years
or you'll leave us at Margaret's mercy."

His message delivered, he turned on his heel
and gave his machine a quick rub
with a guttering cough and a radial squeal
Albert beamed himself back to the pub.