Bus Stop Wings

This is true
The ending is false.

I crossed the road
walking towards the bus stop
slowly, tired on a Friday evening
yes the day again had been long and hard.

To my left
huddled around a dustbin
filled with chicken bones
and yesterday’s news
were a complete family

mum
dad
daughter

Dad was holding a half filled Coke bottle
and adding to it precisely another
deeper heavier drink.

A drink that was cautious in revealing itself
like an escaped convict or a banished king.

It rustled in it’s concealed black bag
only exposing one glass eye
gaping and twisted,
eluding all the head-phoned commuters
and steady strolling community officers.

Dad handed the Coke bottle to mum
as she smiled,
stretching her newly applied pound-store
red lipstick
and teeth stained with fools gold.

The daughter turned to face me
maybe she was 6 or 16
I couldn’t tell.

Her pretty ugly pink jacket
that was never made anywhere
hung over her like a shroud,
a pound-store halo sat coiled like a cobra
around her barbed pate,
her miniature hands with chipped plastic nails
gripped a cold can of Red Bull
because just before I came to the bus stop
slowly and tired on that Friday evening
mum had told her that it would gives her wings.

Mum came over and sat beside me
so she could slowly sip her Coke bottle
her gloating, wanted coke bottle
that always gave her wings.

Dad stayed huddled around the dustbin
of chicken bones and yesterday’s news,
so he could smoke something
that too always gave him wings.

Mum’s eyes left the bus stop
as she took off in flight
the same moment
her daughter finished her can of Red Bull
And threw it in the dustbin

Clank!

filled with chicken bones
yesterday’s news
and broken wings.

She looked at Dad

His eyes were closed
Flying
High

She looked at Mum

Her eyes were closed
Flying
High

She put her cold hand in daddy’s big limp one
And said in her Red Bull voice;

‘Dad look mums gone to sleep at the bus stop…look dad!’

Dad didn’t look,
for he knew
he was flying in the same marital sky
as mum was,
hand in hand
arm in arm.

His daughter snivelled as the road died;

I love my dad
I love my mum

His voice came like gravel being thrown
on to a lowered coffin.

I know baby
we love you too.