Most days of the week see me travelling backwards and forwards to work on the bus. Quite often if my daughter has woken up the previous night I often use the time to catch up on my sleep but when I don’t I find it hard not to people watch.
By people watch I mean observing my fellow commuters and wondering what they are thinking, what they do etc. Observation I often find sparks poetry so I give you a poem that I decided to call ” 3 generations ” written after a spot of people observation one groggy Monday morning on the way to work.
Daughter mother and granddaughter,
A holy trinity for the Ipod generation,
Get on the bus every working day,
And sit in their usual pattern.
The daughter with her bleached hair,
Held back in a facelift tight bun,
Has the best fake tan a bottle can give,
Never putting down her mobile phone.
The mother young and also bottle tanned,
With her fake fur hood always up,
Sits next to her daughter in silence,
Never acknowledging she’s there.
Grandmother with her roots showing,
Dressed in granddaughter’s cast offs,
Proudly defies you it seems to guess her age
As she smiles and cracks her make up.