Moving backwards

 

Sit in wait.

Bus late, or never

to arrive,

Community

deprived of a life

outside its confines.

Is this progress?

Are we

moving backwards,

or are we even

moving at all?

It feels

like the station walls

are closing in.

 

The elderly gent,

who sits

on the steel bench

opposite the scribe.

The highlight of his week

escape from

the torment of loneliness,

that clouds his mind,

a quick pint imbibed

and some joyful chat,

now sits alone

in his 1 bed council flat,

drinking himself flat.

 

The late-shift mother,

wants to get home

to kiss her kids goodnight,

they have school tomorrow.

Now walks streetlight-deprived

pavements, each step

cemented in fear.

To reach her destination,

which sits just feet

from a disused bus stop,

Is this progress, or regression,

travelling in the wrong direction.

Safety no longer

a part of the ticket price.

 

Decked in NHS blue,

the young nurse sits

after a 12-hour shift,

eyelids drift towards the moon,

almost in prayer. Saved a life today,

no time to unwind.

She shifts in her seat,

shift in mere hours,

just wants to sleep.

Is this too much to ask? Is this progress?

 

Is this progress?

Passengers

on a journey to nowhere.

Where bus stops lie,

for no buses stop there.