poliphilo

BRIGHTLY LIT

Todmorden station at 9.00 pm:

The waiting room is brightly lit

But its door is locked. There's no-one here

Save me and a lad asleep on a bench

(With his legs drawn up- so not like a corpse)

In the misty rain. I am ten dark miles

And more than an hour away from you

And if I were able to think of our number

(You know, love, what I'm like with numbers-

Useless) I would call you up

On the mobile phone. A goods train passes

Pulling its metal catafalques

And I think of that silly old play, the Ghost Train-

Arther Askey has silly specs

But is really a great detective tracking

A gang of smugglers. Actually, love,

That wasn't the truth about the phone.

I have the number. It's just that I hate

Those conversations in virtual space.

I need to see you. I need your touch.

How else can I know how you're taking things-

What you really mean? I prop myself

In an archway where I haven't a light

Behind me and I watch the sleeper

Turn, sit up and settle again.

He's quite well-dressed and I guess he's sleeping

Something off and not sleeping rough

But I wonder how he can sleep at all

Out there in the rain and so brightly lit.

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