Pension Day
 
After the weekly pilgrimage
There’s time to kill before the bus.
Slowly, with sticks and bags they come,
Following decal walkway signs
That point them to Café Revive.
It’s here these grey haired waiters wait,
Like patients at a surgery,
Sitting, heads bowed, on hard-backed chairs
Each with a coffee or sweet tea -
They stretch each minute, sip their drinks.
Close by ironic signs declare :
End of the Line and Last few Days,
A joke that they refuse to see -
They sit and fiddle with their cups.
 
Time drags so slowly sitting here -
Each week, another Groundhog Day -
Yet do some wish to break the mould?….
To ride without a travel pass
And make a journey, not by bus.