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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