The Perambulator
It squeaked as it slowly rolled out the door
Trundled out the rusty gate
Over the sunken wooden bridge
and onto the sandy sidewalk.
The daily trudge had begun.
Nestled and nurtured within were the lives of her family
And children
Babies! Indeed!
Within were no laughing, lounging, cute or chubby faces
Certainly no cozy, comfy blankie washed in Downey detergent nor dried with Bounce sheets
No, nothing of the sort.
Yet, her babies lay there-in.
It ambled down the dusty, dry, brick-filled street
Towards the rendevouz
amid stares
and glares
and thoughtful wondering glances.
This was no gleeful walk of fame for
Truly sometimes it felt like a walk of shame
But continue it must
On this journey for there is purpose and an end game.
Men, women and children congregate at the corner
Craning their necks
They eagerly await a glimpse of the perambulator
Children suddenly gleefully clap and dance as they espy its approach
Anxious to see the babies!
Squeak, squeakity, squeak
Jerk, jerkity, jerk
It rumbles and rocks and staggers
Slowly, purposefully, it comes to a graceful, grateful halt
Tired
And worn
And thankful
At its favourite spot.
Through the years and seasons
The tattered spotless hood had protected and
Shaded her precious treasures
The huge discoloured, spoked wheels
Had rolled hundred of miles, hundred of times –
not for pleasures.
Hood removed; babies revealed.
Clamour arises -a congregation in worship
Bills in hand; coins jingling-
Everyone desiring to give and get their share.
Some fried; some baked
Some sweet; some savoury
Some crunchy; some soft
All so very edible and tasty!
These are her babies-
The wares she plied everyday from the perambulator!
T’was because of these babies, she fed her babies
T’was because of these babies, she took care of her babies
These babies brought help
These babies brought hope
These babies brought healing
Without the perambulator
There’d be no daily rendevouz for these babies.
The perambulator brought her
fame-a name-“pram lady”;
peace of mind;
friends of various kinds.
For all this and more she is thankful
And it all began when she brought home
THE PERAMBULATOR.
©2020/02/20
Copyright © Pollyana Darrell | Year Posted 2020
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