Monday, 23 April 2012

Poached Eggs and Dancing


He boarded the train, and chose his seat carefully, wary to hide his gaze from strangers.
Placing two bags on the luggage rack, he was satisfied with his location, and settled down in the seat, cautious not to crease his coat.
Staring out the window, the city changed to suburb, the suburb to fields.
He wished he could smoke.
The past week had stolen something from him; all was not well in the world.
Death clung to his atmosphere, the other passengers nothing but ghosts.
He wasn’t sad. At least, not now.
Merely contemplative, on the recent change in his life. The thought that he would never have a similar Christmas, that he would not wind the oaken stairs to oxygenised passageways and the assault of early afternoon game shows on full volume.
He wished he hadn’t complained so much.
He stood in car parks and smoked, sneered, judged, scorned, spat.
Stock still in an unseen corner, observing from the shadows. He saw everywhere, people scrambling for a safety sewn shut.
The sun outside the window slowly faded, and he realised that he was staring at his own reflection.
He gazed serenely into his own tired eyes, looking for something.
For that shimmering, stirring light that exposed his true thoughts, once.
He saw jet black encircled by pale grey, haloed by bloodshot white, and knew that this wasn’t him.
He closed his eyes and remembered the night before.
The grief, the sadness, the intolerable guilt.
The secret of a stranger that they will share forever
He remembered the clutching hands of love, leading him home again.
He opened his eyes, picked up two bags, and departed the train in single file
Like school children and prisoners
He understood, now, that for the first time in his life
He was about to say goodbye.

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