By Waterloo Station
By Waterloo Station, I sat down and waited,
viewing the Thames — which reflected the cirrus,
the skyline, the woebegone sun — and debated
within my mind’s chambers (no one could hear us) —
thrashed out with the twin in my brain why we loitered
and — who were we waiting for, wasting the day?
My twin couldn’t say. The trees, all embroidered
with blossoms, were beaming, and clouds were at play
like whales in the blue. While I sat there reflecting
and drifting, at last, I got up from my seat.
As I strolled I could feel that I started connecting,
connecting like tracks under building and street,
connecting to underground Alice, Old Vic,
Leake Street Arches’ graffiti, and London’s huge Eye.
Trains came and they went — unhurried or quick —
but never with me, for I’d never say “Bye.”
If you have any
thoughts on this poem, Martin
Elster would be pleased to hear them.