Warthog Day

Not a day I would care to repeat,

filled as it was with the most

teeth-grindingly awful encounters with banks and officialdom,

blank-eyed computer operators,

 processes and procedures,

and above all Queues.

I tried three Post Offices with an urgent package,

and couldn't bring myself to join the first two

as they shuffled wearily towards 'cashier number 3',

who was the sole service provider for 30 people.

I queued incorrectly in a bank

and a department store

and had to start again.

I failed to acquire a vital stamp for vital documents

and was unable to replace a pair of trousers for

a new suit that had been borrowed, ripped and then lost.

Warty pumpkins.

But then things looked up.

Or rather I did,

and I saw house martins flying from the rooftops 

in a shopping precinct

and a giant fiery red sun

magnified in the gap between a church 

and a multi-storey car park.

Then as it sank,

I smelt the chill, damp,

sour apple-scented air

and decided to visit two people 

for whom a day like mine

would have taken a week to accomplish

without the ease of mobility that I have.