Vehicles

Mummy and Daddy with
two little girls, baby
brother and a baby
paraphernalia mountain
crammed themselves
with bags of clothes
and food into their
seven seater van to
visit the cousins with
two little boys in the
mighty megalopolis.

The city cousins sneered
at this van in their
driveway, said only people
in unsalubrious southern
suburbs drove such
low class vehicles.

Auntie Jo carries shopping
in her trundler, having no
car in her retirement
after three redundancies.
Grandpa in his new late
model car, retired after
thirty odd years in one
workplace, is most scornful
of her trundler as his chic
car purrs around town.

Mummy and Daddy would
rather pay the mortgage,
feed and clothe mushrooming
baby brother than buy latest
trends stylish appearance.
Auntie Jo would rather buy
a comfortable life than a
four wheeled shopping basket.


Previously posted September 2016.

Vehicles

Shopping Trundler

The shopping trundler
has a sturdy frame
with wheels which
squeak unrhythmically
under very heavy loads.
This stolid packhorse
has made many trips
home from the supermarket
with its fit and healthy driver.

The rubberised backing on
the trundler’s bag is cracking
where it sags around the jagged
corners of the bulky loads
it trails home so frequently
behind it energetic driver,
transporting them as efficiently
as a four wheeled vehicle.

One passerby at the bus stop
said that the trundler is
an old lady’s bag. What
does it matter when it
makes the weight of six
shopping bags so light ?


Previously posted September 2016.


Shopping Trundler

Cafe Lunch

What joy to sit solitary reading
big city newspapers leisurely
consuming latte and neat little
club sandwiches or scrambled
eggs on toast if I’m feeling
ravenous in the cosy surrounds
of a local cafe.

I’m told “meet more people”
“get an interest”, “join club”,
but it all take up time I
could spend on writing and I
know lot of people already.
I need peace from their
jabbering to write out the
ideas sloshing around in my
head. Wind down time in
a local cafe rebalances
my equilibrium.

A cafe lunch not made by me
is a delicious change from
soup and toast eaten while
lounging on my couch at home.



Previously posted September 2016.


Cafe Lunch

Lady Who Lunches

I’m a lady who lunches
such a grand status after
years of work lunches
snatched at top speed.
Sometimes a fifteen minute
sit down with sandwiches
and caffeine but often
it was lunches on legs
with so much to do
between AM and PM slots.

Now I’m a pensioner with
modest income since I
found no part time work
in our stagnant local market
with few new openings
for those over fifty years old.
I was lucky to work
till I was sixty five.

Retired former workmates
and I dine out each month
– if we go grand one month
we eat Chinese the next.
But lunch out costs less
than dinner out costs so
one day a week I’m a
lady who lunches in local
cafes eating chef prepared
meals in stylish surroundings.
Sometimes with friends,
sometimes alone, but more
classy than sammies and tea
on the couch at home.


Previously posted September 2016.

Lady Who Lunches

Solo

The one level block of flats
spreads along side a narrow
lawn bordering a footpath.
Each flat’s front door joins
the footpath along this concrete
strips bisecting the lawn.
Each little cell is walled off
from its fellows in the block.

Together yet apart.

The newspaper photo showed
the silent lawn and front doors
with no one in sight. Underneath
the report said an old lady
had died in one of those flats,
lain dead on her floor three days.

No one had had missed her, only
a neighbour up the road who
spoke briefly with her each day
as she passed on her way
to the shops. they would greet
each other, discuss the neighbour’s
work in her front garden, but
never exchanged names.

The neighbour worried for
three mornings when she did
not com by, then rang the
police who found the old lady
dead on the floor of her flat.

Solo in death as in life.


Previously posted September 2016.

Solo

An Outing

Seemingly sitting in her living room
forever, she saw daily the sofa and
armchairs in their worn floral coats
the mirror in its brassy frame rubbed
up weekly by the home help from
social services. Unable to even
shower on her own, her failing body
jailed her in her own home.

Her daughters and granddaughters
visited, sometimes moving her in
her walker into the conservatory
where she stared out into the
street from her big old chair
waving to passing neighbours.

She envied her husband his mobility
scooter freedom but was thankful for
his company. He knew her feelings,
one day helping her, puffing and
gasping, on to his scooter, as her
lumbering body sagged its weight
on to the scooter’s chair.

Triumphantly she rode down the ramp
to their driveway, down to the street
as he stumbled haphazardly after her
on the walking frame. Excitedly she
looked up and down the street.
Sheer exhilaration ! Her Everest
remembered from months ago.

Now her body’s painful objections
stabbed through her. She gasped, leant
back in the chair, then turned at last
back up her driveway, into her home,

her living room cell.

Her last outing.


Previously posted September 2016
.


An Outing

Weeping Willow

Gusting wind stirs
the supple muscular boughs of
willow’s giant torso

tossing flowing waves
of long lush leafy tresses
rippling silver green.

_________________________________


Mossy trunked willow
towers high in this garden
planted in early
city days. Urban dwellers
knew nothing of willow roots

seeking streams to slake
continual thirst lifting
backyards paths driveways
sucking up water lavished
on vegetables, flowers, lawns.


Previously posted August 2016.


Weeping Willow