Moving On

The children grew up knowing
their schooling was expected
to lead to paid employment
promptly. Their father expounded
this at the dinner table each
night that he was there – which was
erratic as he preferred the
after work company of his
drinking mates at the pub.

Their mother, doing her expected
duty attended parent teacher meetings.
On advice received the mother
guided the children to university,
to be funded by bursaries, by
holiday and part time work.
The mother had not been allowed
to attend university herself and
was glad her children were to attend.

Too late the father saw that
his children were moving ahead
of him in the job stakes !
He raged at them over the dinner
table each night, denouncing
them as lazy worthless students.
His children worked hard,
passed their exams, then took
his nightly tirades to heart,
removed themselves
from his home.

The mother was upset.
The father was puzzled.
The nest was empty.


Previously posted May 2016.

The Phone Call

Her familiar voice
sounds over the telephone
calling for a break from
her loneliness, …… again.

Across the city the daughter
at home near her professional job
is at a loss for words …… again.

Until late marriage
the mother lived her life
at home ruled by her father
until his final illness, when she
went out to work at age thirty,
struggling in her new world.

Now her daughter is single,
middle aged, time for her
to settle down in her parents’ home,
look after them. This is the life
the mother knew, keeps hinting.
She is worn out after battling
marriage, husband, children ….
……….. and still lonely.

As she grows older the daughter
has thought she will be able to
link with her mother, find the
fabled mother daughter bond.
“Come home now, it is time
for you to look after us,”
the mother tells the daughter.

And the daughter knows
they will never connect now,
whether she stays in the world,
or return to her parents’ home.


Previously posted May 2016.

Reversal

I tread the streets of an ancient city
far from home where the blanket of
unemployment stifles many.
For more than a day I flew here
to work until I can claim
the retirement pension.
Walking the Stratford Station
platform I think this was easy
thirty odd years ago.
Now not so much.

My grandmother made a reverse
journey from her little Cornish market
town deep in the southwest, sailing
with parents, sisters, brothers, halfway
round the world from unemployment
seeking work for her parents.
They disembarked the day
before her third birthday,
a new land her birthday gift.

Now with her birth certificate
her son’s birth certificate and
mine, I leave unemployment
at home for work in her home land,
a reversal of history.

She moved from her market
town to a colonial port,
her family living on unskilled
labouring. I went from a small
city to a vast metropolis living
on odd days of casual work.

Both of us uprooted
in new townscapes
living among strangers
to keep ourselves alive.


Previously posted April 2016.