Thursdays - Ros Willard

Thursday was always my shopping day.
Each week I would collect my pension
from the Post Office.
Standing in the queue
I would chat to Betty and Joan and Deidre
about our dead husbands,
our grandchildren,
the weather.
I don’t anymore –
the Post Office closed last year.

Afterwards I used to queue
in the butchers, the greengrocers, the bakery,
exchanging recipes, suggestions, advice.
I don’t anymore.....

Now on Thursdays
I go to a town
ten miles from my village.
Surrounded by strangers,
speaking to no-one,
I stand in a supermarket
and watch my fruit and vegetables,
bread and meat,
process in cling-filmed silence
along the conveyor belt.

I don’t know what I shall do
when they stop the bus service next year.

Ros Willard