Helpless

 Helpless 

By Sophia Jane Rawlings 

I’m sat on the bus,

It’s late. 

the sun is setting so the city is dark and the lights from the bus light up the road. 

I see you stood on the edge of the road,

Looking left. 

You clutch a bottle of cider in one hand,

Your clothes are bagged in the other. 

Your hair is frazzled and wet from the bleak northern rain,

Your coat is ripped and stained,

Your shoes falling apart. 

The road is clear but for my bus which has parked at the traffic lights. 

You’re looking down the road,

Longingly,

Expectantly. 

I wonder what you’re waiting for. 

Your eyes are dark, crying with the pain they’re holding inside. 

Tears fall down your cheek with the rain;

A wet, salty amalgamation. 

Your eyes narrow and the years displayed on your forehead are visible to the world,

A world that isn’t looking. 

The traffic in the adjacent road begins to move and I see your eyes lift,

Your feet move anxiously;

You’re preparing yourself. 

I sit here, 

Helpless,

expecting the worst. 

Something happens,

Clicks in your head, 

And you slowly turn the other way,

Walking right alongside the traffic. 

Your shoulders fall and your pace is heavy as you clutch your cider and walk with the cars,

Seemingly wishing as though they had taken you with them.