And it felt right somehow,
spending four pounds eighty
on two coffees to give myself
time to finish his new book –
the station filling and emptying
like a milk jug. There are many
shirts, ties, looks – they are
tolerating the violence, the stroppy
endurance of trains. Unsurprised
to find itself indoors
under a dirty roof,
a pigeon cocks its ear
to catch a poem.
No comments:
Post a Comment