Rear View

They wait patiently at the lights

red like their tired skin

blue from the odd troublesome vein

Hunched over

he has a concentrated stare

far into the distance

occasionally at her

with a slight curl of the lip

She grips her bag

resting on her new hip

like the rest of her life

depends on the contents

The walking man appears

and suddenly they move off

overtaking the odd snail

waving to patient drivers

a couple of survivors

For the amusement of the crowd

his lip broadens into a wide smile

as he pats her on the big pants

in return for a swipe with the handbag

A wag of the finger

says life isn’t always as it used to be

or what it may seem

strangers alone



green for go

Not that they notice

fully fake tanned

faces buried in technology

as if the rest of their lives depend on it

Screams follow the sound of shattered dreams

the helpless hopeless realisation

that to get to the other side

you need to look up

and miss the bus

© Ash Cheyne – January 2019 :

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