Escalator Stories

Her mother’s dying, not long now
They’ve kept it from the kids
But worrying won’t pay the bills
An escalator story

They got him on the way from school
Threw his bags in a ditch
He cried but couldn’t tell his mum
An escalator story

Three bottles empty, on the shelf
How did it come to this
What would they do if they found out
An escalator story

Drugs can’t disguise the chronic pain
Getting up is the worst
Next appointment, months away
An escalator story

I go to London about once a week, travelling from a rural reality to this strange, incredibly vibrant environment (I know, for most, that will be the norm and I am the exception). After a slow build on the train, climbing onto the platform is like stepping into a scene. People coming from every direction, going about their business with brows furrowed in determination. It's too easy to become part of the flow, but I often wonder what's going on in the lives of each person I pass. Chances are that each will have their fair share of trauma. But on we all go.