Three Sisters

They sat as they had done

For twenty years or more past

Small brown bench

Smooth to the touch Wood Weathered Worn,

polished by constant use

Flaked white lime washed walls

Zinc bucket, use forgotten

coming to terms with a new master, rust

Azure faded cracked paint

They stared, melancholic down the road,

Waiting for the cream and blue bus

with the crunching gears and over revved engine

Slowly as an artiste on the high wire

wind its way up the black cleft ridden road 

to the village on the hill.

They were of a bygone age

A time that flowed with more grace. 

Sitting in stoic remembrance,

Happy times, sad times, time the constant

They were of an age when woman became invisible

No heads turned, no flirting comments.

Husbands and lovers long gone, eulogised.

Memories and routine now their cold bedfellows

But still they came,

Two carrots, one onion, few potatoes

And meat half the size of that,

For that’s what women do,

Remain forever strong.