Driving home along City Road
an ambulance dashes by
with” blues and twos”
screaming its way towards the hospital
– do we all wonder whether
its cargo is of death or life
another human being on the way out
or a baby on the brink of being born?
Does anybody learn indifference
to this question of “for whom the bell tolls?”
The blue lights illuminate the faces and bare arms
of the sex workers leaning against
the old warehouse building – soon to be apartments
and if they were looking for their veins
right now, they wouldn’t find them
but that will come later…
One girl lurches across the pavement
as a familiar car pulls up
and as she departs, another slips
into pole position, eyes peeled…
A few hours earlier, or come tomorrow
this street junction will belong
to office workers or shopgirls
some in the sanctity of hair concealing hijab
with no knowledge of their having
traversed the red light district
of another temporal place.
The patient in the ambulance
will hopefully be settled in a bed
recovering, or perhaps a bed
beside a cot with mother and baby
also recovering, and adjusting
to the new place, respectively.
At home I make two suppers
to meet our different needs
– one soft and forgiving on dentures
that no longer fit well and tastebuds
stripped of efficacy by smoking
secondly the most creative that
cooking for one can get
and I remember cooking for different
tastes in our early reconstructed family
– one diabetic, one vegetarian
two for meat and two veg, and the two of us
then just wanting something interesting to eat…
Now only Christmas dinner brings
the whole family together and still
there are different varied requirements
to further complicate that logistical nightmare
but catering to all is the measure of care…
© Andrew Wilson, 2025
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, lillian in Live, OpenLinkNight, invites us to post a poem of our choice and hopefully read it at the live session.
This poem references a time when I lived in the centre of Bradford, and unwittingly (since I viewed it in the daytime) lived in an apartment adjacent to the heart of the red light district, also a busy route to the Bradford Royal Infirmary and rarely, I still traverse this road on my way home, to my present address…
This is such a richly detailed poem depicting the shades of society – the working class, the passersby, the red-light area where condemnable acts are carried out only to be forgotten in daylight.
I love how you transport us to the scene and as a reader make us experience and feel what you did at the time ❤️❤️
I often think of the richly layered intersections of life Sanaa – there but for the grace of God go I…
Andrew, wonderful, vivid forensic on the intersection. Once home an interesting meal history with family. Really like your concluding line.
Thanks Li – this one worked out well I think…
You’ve truly taken me along on this ride and this visit to your neighborhood and home. I can see it and hear it and feel it. And that last line “catering to all is the measure of care” says so much in so few words.
Yes! Hope to hear you read it aloud a bit later today!
Thank you Lillian, sorry you didn’t get to hear it but it seemed a lot of people hadn’t caught the America poem first time of posting – es la vida…
Love how you explored these ‘intersections’ of humanity and also how you honor the labor of love, whether for strangers or loved ones. I hope you read it this morning, sorry I wasn’t able to attend … out of town exploring beaches on the Oregon Coast for a long weekend.
Thank you so much Helen – you didn’t miss it as I read one of my submission poems instead… If you would like a digital copy of that photo, i could send it to you by email but i realise sharing an email is awkward…
You have the address … would love a digital copy! Cheers. At a rest stop halfway home …. it’s a long drive ~ that return. Four hours seems like ten. But it’s a beauty.
I love how you merge the two changing realities of the city and your family. Brilliant!
Different cities at different times of day, Nolcha…
Clearly a busy neighbourhood, and stage of life, unique to that place and time.
I suspect many cities and towns have this sort of bipolar or rather bitemporal sort of areas Rosemary…
Yes, the story at face value is not the only story, and there are so many angles and variations, catering all is the measure of care and is also a gift – one sometimes hard to live out. A thoughtful and provocative poem Andrew.
The comments here have made me conscious of links between the first and second halves of the poem which I was not really aware of writing so Thanks Paul ans everyone else who has commented…
I love all the details in this, Andrew. I suppose every city in some way caters to all, but I like how you make it specific both in the urban landscape and at the dinner table. There’s an important historical archives in Philadelphia. It’s in the Gayborhood, but many years ago it was known as place to pick up sex workers. I used to think that was a funny how the area changed at night.
Yes, the multiple lives of cities and the multiple experiences of the individuals in that city – it bears thinking about Merril…
Agreeing with Lill, the last line leaves us with a wonderful thought.
Thanks Melissa…
Nicely done Andrew. It reminds me of a time as a youngster when I was staying in a cheap hotel room in York. I was only about 7 or 8 years old. I couldn’t view the street outside but I could hear it all going on and I wondered about the lives of all those people making their noises. I don’t know why but the memory has stuck with me all this time.
Yes Shaun – these madeleine moments sure persist…