seen crossing
waiting for the 267, bussed by pallid sun
i idly watch as cars that lord the tarmac’d space
betwixt our modest homes and short parade of shops
thrust past, in fear some soft and time-rich driver stops
to bid one of us locals cross with spring-heeled pace
asserting our bold right to transport inside our own carapace
one car, i note, has paused for one of us—at first obscured
by its high rear—while more cars brake, a brittle twig
bent slant and dark, cracked from an aged apple tree
emerges slow, each zebra’s stripe the apogee
—or so it seems—of this small lady’s hobbled jig
her tiny shopping cart behind: a humble, fragile rig
her hundred metres course from home to mini superstore
perhaps she once would bolt to grab with speedy verve
a malted loaf or box of eggs to fix a snack
for some fresh guest, or treat—to top the book-filled pack
of a gone child. Today she spends her last reserve
on striving for the central island: weak of limb yet strong of nerve
long seconds tick; folk wait; while this side of her treasured isle
fraught drivers judge her pace too slow to make them break their stride
so hustle past. The plucky twig creeps nigh the halfway ground
amid the maelstrom—whereupon two tradesmen, pick-up bound
for their next job (though they have room to safely pass this side)
slow down their day, stop time, and smile their fellow passerby across: all eyed
by me as she and he and he, mute strangers all, reflect upon our mortal ride.
Paul Rapley 2026 #beingwatched
Sorry this has taken so long (in line with the theme, I guess) #PoemsAbout #BeingWatched
Thank you @alanparrywriter.co.uk & @thebrokenspine.co.uk
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