Walking along the footpath
from the supermarket I heard
a speeding battery motor whirring
behind me, no remote controlled toy
but an elder person’s mobility scooter.
I jumped aside as it shot past me,
a Harley Davidson of Elder travel today.
With four sturdy wheels and
a star trek captain’s throne
flying an aerial with three flags
it powered past me, majestic,magnificent.
Its driver fixed me with a beady eyed stare,
a tiny old lady, her only helmet
her own short grey hair,
emitting strong disdain for
people on foot, lugging shopping bags.
She was gone in seconds
around the corner
leaving me transfixed on the kerb.
Originally posted 1 March 2016.
Mrs Jones mother grew
exquisite carnations in
magnificent flower beds.
Mrs Jones grew gerberas,
pink, orange, red,
with long thin petals
as her mother did.
She set up a rose garden
filled with sweet smelling flowers.
At Mrs Jones’ gardening circle,
so essential for compleat housewives,
women brought their best blooms
to each meeting, vying for prizes:
bath salts,boxed handkerchiefs,
or soft toys knitted by Mrs Smythe.
After some years of traditional blooms
the gardening circle derailed
with broad petalled gerberas,
fat carnations, and unscented
strange coloured roses.
Mrs Jones tried to keep up
with these trendy newcomers
and bought a dirty mauve rose,
unscented, called “silver”.
She tried to love her new
purple flowered tree,
but it changed its name
from lassiandra to tibouchina.
How could she love it now ?
Not a gardener at heart
Mrs Jones was so glad
when her husband retired
and took over the
herbaceous borders along
with the trees, hedges and lawns.
Originally posted 23 February 2016.