A Love Poem- Written In 1999

[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.

Comments

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

Thanks.