Victoria line to Walthamstow. At Oxford Circus like sardines
but upright like the terracotta army cheek by jowl
and from the corner of my eye, sideways I saw your deep brown eyes
your flawless skin, your thoughtful gaze. I fantasized and thought
of Africa, or Trinidad or some exotic paradise, though probably
you came from Tottenham Hale.
At Warren Street, the train was jolted to a sudden halt
and you were hurled at me. At first your eyes,
the brown eyes I had seen before, were close to mine,
then I became aware that two small breasts were pressed
quite intimately on my elderly and venerable chest,
and I was holding you, secure and firmly,
to prevent you falling, and I knew you understood.
I carefully restored you to an upright situation,
and your eyes, an inch from mine smiled in conspiracy
and my eyes smiled in similarity I think.
But it was half a smile
for that was all we dared to make.
I looked into your soul, a millisecond only.
We were one. You felt it too, and then
we were two solitary travellers. We knew
That we would never meet again.
Our eyes smiled briefly, but of course
our faces did not share the smile.
And then a new young woman offers me her seat.
Thank you. That means she sees that I am old.
Of course I know the many years that I have travelled
but I did not know how much it showed.
I thank her and sit down,
now separated from my dusky love.
I look around the carriage and behold,
another lady smiles at me. She is
A little more mature, voluptuous even
one might say, but this is a warm
come hither smile, so I smile back
an open smile, no hesitancy this time,
a bit young for me
but what the heck?
Then she gets off
at Highbury and Islington.
I look back for the dusky one
the Underground had thrown at me.
I am alone. I did not see her go.
No comments:
Post a Comment