Shrewsbury

“Goodbye, mommies gon ’to hospital” 

“you’ll have to come with me"

"to Oxford if she’s not out by tonight.” 

I heard this triplet, struggling 

to find my Shrewsbury connection, 

a train toward Aberystwth.

I sat at table, joined by 

a lovely young lady 

reading with cheaters.

I’m sporting suspenders, with a tie 

in between. Her breaths 

stretch a Tweety-bird with bubbles.

It's a sleeper, and I fulfilled 

the wish gravity makes

and tumble into a cot

one from the back of the car 

full of untucked sheets. 

Thirty-two hours since a shower. 

But I'd shaved twenty-six 

years of stubble

in the airport loo. 

Enshrouded by Muslim women.

It seemed my darkened chamber 

mimicked a kind of mysticism. 

I sense my tablemate quivering 

like a breath swept candle

allowed to burn down, to deep pooling wax.

The sky appears, bright for clouds. 

Everyone, so lazy in their seats arise, read, sleep, 

and pay not an ounce of attention to me. 

Crossing below bridges

of all kinds 

every minute. 

This mouse lacks an owl. 

I smell of burning, 

and we are shortly in Telford. 

I understand the smell will fade, 

the Tetley will grow tepid,

the moment will have passed.

New people now are shuffling into old seats. 

A cell phone went off just minutes ago. 

But alighted the platform, saying “Arrival.”

I feel beautiful under close inspection of assumption. 

I dare not let my eyes sleep on

a seat in the house of dreams. 

My far-sighted Wellington Madame 

stood and departed. 

Her focus burned out. 

I had taken off my own spectacles

and could no longer picture

what seemed so spot on while I slept.

1998(2024)