Waiting for the Train

I come here everyday
planning to buy a ticket,
but can never decide
whether to get the return
or take the one trip ride.

My stomach feels like
a washing machine
spinning a heavy brick,
all these falling raindrops
have made the platform slick.

I’m balancing on a train track
slipping on the grimy plaque
watching people pass on by
it might be raining, but I’m still dry.

And so I sit on a wet bench
that looks out onto the track
while a train man paces with
his strong shoulders and back.

He whistles as he goes
and I stare at hungry pigeons
I want to know what they know,
does the train man have religion?

I’m balancing on a train track
slipping on the grimy plaque
watching people pass on by
it might be raining, but I’m still dry.

A tracksuit girl comes out of the ticket box
She drinks a can of fizzy pop
“What time is the train?”
“Six thirty seven,” the train man explains.
She throws the can into the bin,
and walks back in.

I’m balancing on a train track
slipping on the grimy plaque
watching people pass on by
it might be raining, but I’m still dry.

I don’t know where I’m going
but I know where I’ve been
this old flower ain’t growing
without a moist seed to begin.

I’m balancing on a train track
slipping on the grimy plaque
watching people pass on by
it might be raining, but I’m still dry.

I’m waiting for the train…