This poem is about a rather funny, though also a little frustrating, incident that happened to me at the end of a working day, in 2019.
I appear to be stuck in a room.
Outside there is a village meeting.
I hear sounds of joy and groans of gloom.
My chance to leave was only fleeting.
The villagers are gathered next door,
To discuss community issues.
My need for dinner grows ever more.
All I have are pens, pad and tissues.
You see I was here doing my job,
Counselling clients throughout the eve.
At home my dinner is on the hob,
Which is why I am ready to leave.
But I’m not one to disrupt debate.
It would be impolite and unkind.
I thought it better to go home late,
While villagers say what’s on their minds.
It now feels this meeting won’t conclude.
I am now starting to feel confined.
I’m sure they didn’t mean to be rude.
Disabled access, not on their minds.
I was delighted to leave at last,
Though I cut through the last of their talk.
Around tables and chairs I squeezed past.
‘Ditched my stick due to no space to walk.
They did not mean to block, there’s no doubt.
With no space for my stick I could fall.
But I managed to get myself out.
There’s a lesson here now for us all.
Be aware of how hard it can be,
When there’s no space to walk with my stick.
Disabled access must be kept free.
Please review this matter, very quick.
(c) Deano Parsons. 2019.