Counting a small wad of £10 notes,
She sits nervously with darkness
Hovering around her eyes as the train
Winds its way down the hill
Between hedges and house backs.

Then, upon arrival, she gets change
From the ticket office before
Hauling herself and her heavy baggage
To the phone box.

Buses depart and arrive as she
Aimlessly wanders from shelter to shelter,
Unsure of where to wait,
Occasionally glancing at
Timetables of routes she may
Never travel or even consider again.

Even though I am too far away
To see them, I can feel the clouds
That hang around her eyes,
Giving her tunnel vision of a world
Surrounded by darkness in which
All the lights conspire to show nothing
Except the location of shadows.

And although it is a fairly mild evening,
The ice inside her shows no trace
Of thawing any time soon.

She seems to fear me, perhaps as a
Potential mugger or rapist, or perhaps
Because I feel the cold and jaded
Ghost that once was her soul,
Clinging to the insides of a
Poorly kept body.

As I make my way home,
I wonder if she is still searching
For somewhere to wait, or for
Somewhere to leave the baggage
She hauled off the train and
Guards with her last shreds of life.

02/24/2003

Posted on 02/25/2003
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince