Not long past dawn
I sit in the lavatory
At the far end of the platform,
Aspiring to perform
Before my train arrives.
This precious duty demands
Contemplative stillness,
And is thus unsuited
To the convenience
Aboard a car in motion.
A sudden freight train
Belts through the station,
A long linked sausage
Of heterogeneous containers,
Mere metres from where I perch,
Shaking the earth
To its bowels.
Then it is gone,
The silence resumes,
But the moment has passed:
In the old gum tree
A kookaburra cackles
From afar:
Close
But no cigar.
No comments:
Post a Comment