Haste.

Why do you get in my way, old woman,
as you fumble around for your change?
It’s lunchtime, I’m busy, I can’t stand here all day,
there are things I need to arrange.

Why do you pack things so slowly old woman,
getting so many things wrong?
Just give her a note, dump your things in your bag,
Surely it can’t take that long?

Young lady, remember that once I was young,
all too soon you will end up like me.
The world will stare through you, forget what you’ve done,
and assume there is nothing to see.

Then you will be standing, your memories lost,
searching for something to say.
You’ll think of me then as you slowly trudge on,
trying to eke out your day.

I am your future, the path you must tread,
look kindly and give me your hand,
for life is too precious and youth is too short-
we are all just grains in the sand.

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One comment on “Haste.

  1. Anne Lister says:

    Perfect – how often I have listened to the sighs of young assistants doing their important war work at the till….

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