Reflections as seen through the Eyes of a Pensioner
Mike
A poem about the uncertain future for elderly people living in Bristol prefab homes, marked by Bristol City Council for demolition.
Transcript
My neighbour tells me that the Council wants our ground.
My prefab’s on the level, makes it easier to get around.
Pensioners in their eighties, one aged ninety two,
Talking to each other: “What are we going to do?”
“To care for us in our twilight years it really is a must,
But we’ve had so many broken promises, we don’t know who to trust.”
“We went to all the meetings – it made us all depressed.”
Some tenants now are moving out. What happens to the rest?
A neighbour is in a bad way, confined to a wheelchair,
To give the likes of us the worry, does the Council even care?
My neighbour has filled out a Transfer Form, oh I wish it were not true,
She’s been so kind and helpful, especially when I’ve had flu.
This arthritis gets no better in my legs and aching back;
No good the Council offering me a sixth floor high-rise flat.
There’s a neighbour with a white stick that he uses so he can see,
All day long he worries, and cannot sleep, just like you and me.
Another has angina, made worse with all the trouble,
He fears he will have a heart attack if his prefab’s turned to rubble.
My garden I’ve looked after all these many years.
The very thought of leaving it brings on floods of tears.
No one wants to listen now we are old and turned to grey,
But we’re hoping for a miracle, praying we may stay.
