Funny how we do it,
size people up quick,
one look in the street
and we think we’ve cracked it.
Too loud, too quiet,
bit rough round the edge,
bit too “he’s alright him”,
or “he looks on the edge”…
Truth is…
That bloke in the canteen,
always having a laugh,
might’ve sat in his motor,
not wanting to graft.
Head full of noise,
wiping his face on his sleeve,
saying, “I’m sound, mate…”
without believing…
We never see that bit..
The lass on the coffee shift,
knows everyone’s order,
might’ve been crying ten minutes before,
in a broken down corner.
Hair tied back tight,
still turning up grafting,
smiling at strangers,
like nowt’s even happening…
The first thing we ask is,.
“You alright?”..
Half don’t even wait
for the answer.
That young lad on an estate,
hood up, earphones in,
they call him a wrong’un,
without knowing a thing.
Maybe he’s just knackered,
done with explaining his head,
when no one around him,
hears half what’s been said…
We never see that bit..
The gym lad smashing plates,
red face, teeth gritted,
like every rep’s personal,
like something’s been written.
But no one sees home life,
or nights on his own,
just thinks he’s “on it”,
like it’s muscle and bone.
The old bloke on Hessle Road,
same walk, same time,
dog sniffing same corners,
like it’s stuck in his mind.
He talks to himself quiet,
no drama, no show,
just killing the hours,
so the empty house don’t grow…
Funny, that..
That mum on the bus ride,
shopping bags cutting hands,
thinking how she stretches,
what she barely commands.
Still smiling at kids though,
like she’s got it together,
while her own head’s broke,
and has been forever.
The lad in the shop queue,
card declined, no pride,
laughs it off quick,
but he’s dying inside.
Doing maths in his head,
that don’t quite add up,
skipping his tea again,
just to fill someone else’s cup….
We walk through each other,
like it’s nothing at all,
just faces and footsteps,
down supermarket aisles.
But everyone’s got summat,
they don’t say out loud,
just carrying the weight,
through another crowd….
Some hide in laughter,
some hide in graft,
some hide in silence,
just hoping it lasts.
Some look like they’ve made it,
some look just fine,
some are hanging on,
one day at a time.
We never see that bit…
I’ve had days
people thought I was flying…
Truth was…
I was hanging on
by my fingertips.
So these days,
I judge a bit less,
because you never really know…
what someone’s carrying.