You wait ages and then...

Giant panda cub born at zoo is found dead

The Guardian, 24 September 2012

They don’t come round often

so she didn't mind the long wait,

time to catch up on the war

in Syria, poor things, holding out

for an Orwell or a Laurie Lee

to write their legend into print.

It wasn't so cold in the shelter,

the autumn sun had seen off

the morning dew and the wind

that had maddened the spangle

of still green fallen leaves

had let them be, left them neatly

packed into corners and vents

and not so much as a zephyr

remained to fill the white sails

of her broadsheet. All week

she'd waited so one more hour

was nothing, knowing as she did

that the schedule was only a guide,

that the twenty-eight was as prone

to breeze in early as wallow in late.

It rolled in right on time and slowed,

the driver craning his neck

as he coasted past not seeing her

slumped on the bench under

the crisp white sheets of her paper.

She awoke some time later

stood, stretched and sauntered home

to phone her nephew about a lift

into town. He asked hadn't she heard

the number twenty-eight had veered

into a ditch after skidding on leaves.

She berated him, told him

don't believe everything you hear

until you read it in tomorrow’s news.

(c) 2012 Slush Poet