A Plea From Doris, OAP.

“Please! Do not text me with a link because you need my date of birth. 

Why not just ask me?

Don't you have a piece of paper and a nice dark ink pen, preferably black not blue?

You see, my time is far too precious these days, to waste it scrolling through your electronic calendar.

I have little time to spare, for it takes me longer to do the simplest of tasks.”

 

“Select my date of birth?

Why can’t I just type the actual date in? It was so many years ago, you know.”

 

“Cos it's just not that easy, old lady.

You gotta work that calendar in reverse, like,

Swipe right, there you go…

Nevermind your sore finger, we don't care if it hurts.

Be quick. Time is money.”

 

“If you want your checkup, we need your info.

Every time you come…

You'll need to click on this link…

Add in all your data, we need everything… “

 

“Here's another form, old gammer,

Just sign it with your finger, use the tip.”

 

“What?” This boney arthritic finger?

But that's utterly ridiculous!

Whatever do you mean?

Don't you have a pen?”

 

“Use your fingernail as a pen, it's easy…”

 

“But that's not my writing!

That's not what I went to school for!

And…I don't even know what it is I'm signing!”

 

“But I'm not asking you for anything free!

I have some money, see, it's in my purse…

You don't accept my money?

You only accept a bank card?

Why? It's hard earned money, it's what it is.

Please, why do you try to unnerve me so?”

 

“You want to know if I am British?

What do you think? Of course I blinking am!

I’m an old English rose, don't you know?

I make marmalade and jam

Don't you dare ask me my pronouns!

You can stuff that up your ****!

I'm off to buy a Battenburg 

And fill my shopping cart”

 

Tired, withered and weary,

The good times, all but gone.

Though I’ll not become all teary,

For my time is nearly done.

 

Do you hear me clearly?

Are you actually listening?

Do you really see me?

Does anyone really care?

 

I miss the old ways daily.

Won’t you please come back?

Don't go. Don't just leave me here

To navigate through this crazy madness.

 

A lost shadow, that people rush past.

I used to be Doris, I still am.

 

Please, do not disrespect me

Or assault my very ways.

I want to live the way I know, 

Not in this misty haze.

 

Written For Doris, by an empathic Mrs WH

© 2023. Mrs WH