Poetry: The Time Traveller

“What year is this?” The time traveller said,

As he scratched his recently apparated head,

“2020” I said, sheepishly back,

As he readied himself, for an attack,

“Have the corpses… come back to life yet?”

“The what?” I say, (I’m starting to sweat).

“Oh Shit” he says - as he furrows his brow,

“We’ve got a fun fifteen years, ahead of us now!”