Saturday, 15 November 2014
New poem: Platform
I was on a station and I needed to get somewhere
quickly. I went up to the guy in uniform, showed him
the name of the place on a bit of paper. He looked
up at the notice board and said,
‘You won’t be able to get there now.’
I said, ‘I’m stuck then.’
‘You haven’t got any bags, have you?’ he said.
‘I’ll tell you what I can do for you,’ he said, ‘I have got a
platform over here,’ and he flicked his head to the right.
‘This is just between me and you, OK?’
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Just follow me.’
He took me along to the end of platform 12 and then
ducked down behind a shed. He pulled me down with
him. He nodded towards the next platform and put his
finger up to his lips. I kept quiet. He looked at his watch.
‘OK,’ he whispered, and then beckoned me to follow
him again. We climbed down off the platform and
walked across several sets of railway lines. Trains were
passing. I wanted to tell him that I was only going to
visit my brother and it could wait. I kept close behind
him. I like railway lines shining when the light is fading.
I wondered how many lines there were. Not just railway
lines but lines above, cutting through the sky. We were
some way off from the station by now. We were walking
by the side of a hoarding. I was next to a woman’s legs.
A giant woman. With giant legs. He took me round behind
the hoarding. There was a single track.
‘Wait there,’ he said, ‘and you’ll be alright. Remember,’
he said, ‘nothing about this to anyone, OK?’
‘Sure,’ I said, ‘when will the train go?’ I said.
He looked at his watch.
‘Later,’ he said, ‘yep, later.’