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
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
red-faced, glancing around,
shoulders tense. Beware.
He lets out a roar.
Then he lets out the roar – of a lion.
An aviation hanger drops quiet,
people come out from stores
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.