Stranded By Him
It’s getting cold.
I rub my hands to create friction
and my feet feel like they’re no longer here.
My ears hide behind my hair,
sheltering from the breath of air
that the wind throws at me.
Seven-thirty-five on a Friday evening;
I should be at home
digging into a chicken burger.
Somehow, I’m still here,
stranded.
Face it.
He’s not coming.
Thirteen minutes more
of waiting in the cloud of cold.
If only I’d listened to my mum
and put on that ugly fluffy jacket,
rather than going out in my top and jeans.
“It’s fine, he’s picking me up.”
But he’s just not.
I’m still waiting here,
still stranded.
Even the bus doesn’t want to save me.
Four minutes late
and only now, it plods round the bend,
pulling up beside me.
Home.
A ticket home.
A ticket home to tell mum she was right.
A ticket home never to come back.
A ticket home because he wouldn’t help me.
A ticket home to the warmth,
never to be stranded
ever again.
Copyright © Gracie Jones | Year Posted 2023
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