I am ashamed
Deeply englishly embarrassed
Squirming in discomfiture at my own shortcoming.
Twenty minutes is all it took to yomp the hill to meet
My son, to greet him.
Thin greasy film of sweat
From head to toe
Evidence of the effort it took.
Proud of my transport free activity
Standing slightly breathless wanting people to notice me.
Yet thousands of miles away
In flooded lands where water drowns the driest corner
But nothing is fit to drink
The composed sallow woman
Sets her face into resigned smile
And takes the first steps of the endless journey
To fill a single head borne jar
With not enough brackish broth
To confer what passes for survival
For her children
For her dead neighbours children
For the cow
For people who know nothing of A levels
Feet on the property ladder.
But who need to survive
© C Jackson 2010
No reproduction permitted in any form without the written permission of the author