Monday, 2 May 2011

30: Trains

the trains were like telescopes
pointed to another horizon

we could look through and see
the past in sharp focus

a slim file tucked in
the lining of a citrine suitcase

pages fit for scattering
like tickertape in a gale

spilt scotch on a pressed
trouser leg, a torn pocket

a ring that no longer slips
over her fat knuckle

a tryst, a snatch in her stocking
a high-arched lost shoe

and the howl of the whistle at dusk

asking the marshes, listen
to the stories contained in the carriage.

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