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<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Train<\/strong><\/p>\n You\u2019d have thought from Telford to London to read these poems to stare out the window; but the ticket inspection the loud conversations our slowing at stations; is a few short emails, and to watch a man with thick black moustache: with love, the cherry yoghurt, to his lips, pale pink shirt and, instead of a tie, a thing Once scraped clean, pot put away in Tupperware, tangerine untouched. perhaps too, I was watched – with tilted head, and upturned eyes; and <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\nthat my journeying<\/p>\n
\nwould be enough time<\/p>\n
\nto darn a jumper<\/p>\n
\nbetween the announcements<\/p>\n
\nthe dark-light of tunnels<\/p>\n
\nthe fast-moving humans<\/p>\n
\nall I have managed<\/p>\n
\nA luggage-rack reflection, he eases off a tinfoilcover, spoons,<\/p>\n
\navoiding drips on to suit,<\/p>\n
\nwhose name escapes me but it hangs like a ribbon, holding his identity.<\/p>\n
\nIt strikes me, later, at a party, where a man is talking lanyards; that<\/p>\n
\nhow the train had wrapped us all, like segments in an unpeeled orange.<\/p>\n