Dear LPG readers, 

I think that there are swings and roundabouts in every walk of life although, as we get older, walking is something that can often be one of the aspects of life that can become more of a challenge.    

We oldies have to blame the fact that, by the time we get to our 6th decade, our legs (not to mention our backs and hips and many other body parts) have done a lot of heavy carrying and are often paying the price for all those times when we know that we should have adopted the scientifically accepted best way to do things, but when, as young people, we never had the time to remember the age old advice. 

I wonder how many people, like me, take a look at the weather and try our absolute best to find a reason to give the day centre, shopping expedition or even meeting friends a miss.  We know that once we have arrived, all will be well, but the thought of standing out there in the rain, snow, or even the hot sun, can be an off putter.  But as the impetus to get out there and on with our lives dwindles somewhat, the fact that we have to depend on the bus can give us food for thought.   

Once you are on the bus, all is good and you are on your way, but what of the wait at the bus stop?   If you find yourself waiting at a bus stop, one thing you know you are likely to have, except on the rare occasion that the bus arrives at the same time as you, is a lot of time to think.    

My poem was born out of the longer waits I have experienced… 

The bus stops 

Shut the front door, I’m ready for a short trip down the road 
I see a neighbour, say hello, he’s just left his abode 
He shuts his gate, and tips his hat but turns the other way 
It looks like I’ll be travelling alone again today  

I’m far too old for rushing round like I once used to do 
I wouldn’t rush across the road, so I’ll just continue 
Not even the sight of the bus I want getting near the stop 
Will tempt me to go faster, in case I trip and drop 

But I remember seeing the bus with a school bag in hand 
Beating it to the bus stop then, was not a problem and  
I still would not have caught it, though I beat it to the next stop 
The fair was better spent after a sprint to the sweet shop 

Having finally got there I would check for the next bus  
We older ladies might be late, but can’t be in a rush  
I know that that is how it is but only older eyes can see 
These days I know I am so much slower than I used to be 

BH, Brockley