Written whilst waiting for the bus on my council estate. I love people-watching, its great poetry inspiration.
A blancmange of a woman: Lycra lathered onto Pinkened, porcine flesh; Today’s special On the estate – Succulent and free range, Farm fresh. Choc-slathered toddler Whined, beside her. All sluggy, grubby fingertips And muted by the Volume of A clackety, gossipy, Cheap-lipped mother.
She had been trying, She said, To get through to the doctor, And obviously was (not) the Introverted type, As her mobile phone sang Dead tones On loudspeaker.
The bus came, And I sat miles away, As I was out of caffeine… And valium.
Think the GP’s have infinity lines. Phones which swallow Their own screams, And feign ignorance, On a perpetual loop
Digital evangelists, Preaching promises Of forever To those who barely Have the time.
©️ Sarah Drury 2021