Pharmacy in 2020

On the hinges of time, I sit
on evacuated seats, the sole
passenger of a desolate bus route.

We whiz past stop after stop, the driver
and I; preparing for a day unlike
many before. Breaking
the silence with the dinging of a bell
and a nodded thanks, the doors shudder
closed.

One phone call soon follows one
patient after another as they
speak to me
of medicine, masks
and LFD’s.

Speak to me
of your worries; growing
tolls, days inside blurring
together while mine circle around
your needs.

Speak to me
because you can, argue because
we’re here to hear it, to suffer
your misplaced emotions as spittle
sprays on perspex barriers.

Speak to me
of your hopes; budding
change, show us the kindness
of strangers in coffee and biscuits
gifted for tea breaks.

Hopping from sore foot to
sore foot,
waiting for the bus home,
a dehydration headache pinches
my eyes.

A ghost bus arrives
as if soundless;
slipping
through lonely streets. I scan
patterns of busy fabric on,
otherwise, empty seats as I sit

on the hinges of time,
a grateful passenger
on a whispered bus route.