And I Waited

I aligned my slippers with the geometric pattern of the hall carpet,

then left, turning the key in both locks,

pulling the handle to check the door was secure.

As it always was.

There was a guy outside in the shadows wearing a long coat, cigarette in hand.

I couldn't say what colour his hair was,

but it was enough to start the incessant Minimoog in my head

and it stayed there for the next hour or so.

The bus eventually arrived, having ignored the timetable once again.

It curtsied by way of apology and I stepped into the heat.

The driver smiled and I think he, like all the others, recognised me.

I sat behind an old man with hair carefully designed to cover his baldness,

the low parting above the nape of his neck defying gravity as it swept upwards.

It reminded me, despite the lack of colour, of a plumage display in mating season.

But there were no likely candidates to attract here.

I sat stock still, hands on knees, staring ahead

to avoid attention from the other passengers.

I found my stop and walked towards the supermarket,

dodging the gaggle of teenagers trying to impress each other with their antisocial behaviour.

I entered the blinding harsh-light of the heaving store,

avoiding the stare of the chicken lady,

selecting my 'Free From Flavour©' meal for one

and remembering this time to pay.

The belated bus approached,

the same driver smiled in recognition

and I sat behind the plumage of the perpetual passenger.

Long coat had gone when I returned.

I entered the apartment,

immediately noticing that my slippers had moved.

I heard the leaden sounds of the pipes below the floorboards.

The Minimoog in my brain stopped.

And I waited.

By Alan Dickie