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Sweet Wendy, Lollipop Lady
Wendy can remember the first day she stopped traffic.
Stepping out confidently, head held high and feeling fab,
As stubbily men in utility vans, paused.
“You alright, bab?”
She strode centred into her road.
For almost 30 years sweet Wendy has worked the streets of the city
Where change is constant.
Been witness as the morning clink of the bottled milk,
Floated away.
Long gone are the boys on bicycles,
Hands inky, smudged from newspaper print.
Written into the past, old news.
“What do you do?” people have asked her,
“I work at the school and I help the Headmaster.
Every day, of every week, educating.”
Sweet Wendy in her yellow high visibility jacket stands out,
She fluoresces.
Cars, vans and buses
Stop at the command of her lollipop sign.
Allow all her children passes
Of safety to school, and home again.
Sweet Wendy knows every child by name.
Some silent, contained and lost in their own little worlds,
Others are chatty, spilling over,
and easy to read, like little open books.
Sweet Wendy stands at their crossroads
Holding aloft her lollipop stick,
While generations of gaggles and giggles of girls
Have impatiently waited to grow older.
And raucous, rambunctious, rabbles of boys,
tram lines in their hair, grow bolder.
Joke fondly, and funny -
“Wendy, the lollipop lady - she makes us cross!”
Sweet Wendy steers them to follow their dreams,
Their own roads still under construction.
Each to their yet unknown destination.
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