Generations Collide

He was sat on the bench,

this old boy,

hidden behind a rose adorned war memorial

in Wood Green.

It was a nice enough day,

bit chilly maybe

as the first frost of late autumn

crept along the ground

leaving snail ice all over the place.

He was leaning forward

over a baby carriage,

big smile on his face,

all rosy from the chill air.

I couldn’t help thinking to myself,

it was great to see the two generations

so happy together.

Usually the paler complexion families

lose their values,

leave their elderly to rot

in a stinking hole

filled with nurses that hate them.

So the media tells us.

His clothes hung tight to him,

a red scarf,

blue hat with bobble.

I watched him for a while

through the window

of the slowly crawling bus,

we eased past him,

he leant down and picked up a bottle.

Strongbow in the morning,

not the healthiest breakfast,

not the healthiest lunch

– or dinner.

At least the cold air

kept it cool enough for the infant

to taste the acrid taste of alcohol.

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