Arrivals, Departures

As a dream in between 10.15
and my Saturday scream.

Central Station.

Ten strapped up,
four brought down,
one in a laughing fit
from taking in too much
of the scenery.

Or maybe just overdosing
on that sweet nectar espesso
provided by sex walking
in a braced grin
and a pale freckle palette
across the counter.

He'll be back there soon
like a window batter fly
for a refill he could live without,
because this day he realised
what he can not live without,

and how to get that out
of it's 7-11 uniform shirt
and run away with it,
and her, forever.

Try to visualise
64 tons of unforgiving steel.
Bodies in motion remain,
on screeching wheels,
rain lubricated enough to roll
but not enough
to stop bitching about it.

Four platforms, 221 souls flinch in unison.

Going north, going south,
right not going nowhere,
to a surreal score of thunderclaps
rolling in form more interesting times.

Rain like an open faucet
leaks something more than mere drops
on boiling asphalt.

Lazy breaks finally respond
and ease their grip,
so we can return to hostile stares...
...and blame one another
for the bloody rain.

All but one,
who drains with a grimace
his espresso coffee mug
and heads briskly back,
to buy another

and another
and another

until she agrees
to go out with him,
maybe even falling
for the Tinseltown
happy ending legends.