Poetry

Listening to carriage noises

on a travelling train, I’m wondering

whether to close eyes,

drop my head, sleep, but suddenly recall

the poetry reading tonight;

a school visit I almost forgot

and a message on my phone

reminds me again – 7 o’clock to pick up a

son.

The train is murmuring, people talk

in one way conversations; mobiles.

And I recall a similar sound

in a queue to board a plane

when, impatiently, angrily,

volume slowly, slowly builds

until small children, hot and bored,

start to cry; then really Bawl

and Wail.

Andrew’s anger;

red-faced, glancing around,

shoulders tense. Beware.

He lets out a roar.

Then he lets out the roar – of a lion.

‘Noooo!!!’

An aviation hanger drops quiet,

shopping stops,

people come out from stores

to gawp.

            Outside, travelling North,

the sky darkens

and carriage people ramble-on.

Nothing escalates: settled, whizzing, bored

but, back then, the boy responded

-always responds- to a crying child

because it signals a soul in pain.

A mystery trying to happen.

Poetry reading? Yes it was.