Nadia Kingsley

 

 

 

Train

 

You’d have thought

that my journeying

 

from Telford to London

would be enough time

 

to read these poems

to darn a jumper

 

to stare out the window; but

between the announcements

 

the ticket inspection

the dark-light of tunnels

 

the loud conversations

the fast-moving humans

 

our slowing at stations;

all I have managed

 

is a few short emails, and to watch a man with thick black moustache:

A luggage-rack reflection, he eases off a tinfoilcover, spoons,

 

with love, the cherry yoghurt, to his lips,

avoiding drips on to suit,

 

pale pink shirt and, instead of a tie, a thing

whose name escapes me but it hangs like a ribbon, holding his identity.

 

Once scraped clean, pot put away in Tupperware, tangerine untouched.

It strikes me, later, at a party, where a man is talking lanyards; that

 

perhaps too, I was watched – with tilted head, and upturned eyes; and

how the train had wrapped us all, like segments in an unpeeled orange.

 

 

Nadia Kingsley is a poet and publisher. She is currently collaborating on an Arts Council England funded performance : e-x-p-a-n-d-i-n-g THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE IN 45 MINUTES, in a mobile planetarium dome. http://www.fairacrepress.co.uk/

 

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