I notice him because
he is cramming a whole pork-pie
into his mouth.
I watch him furtively
smiling inside,
His designer sunglasses
sit with their arms
around his Joe Bloggs cap.
Another pork-pie vanishes,
then another,
until four have disappeared.
Two family sized packets of crisps,
devoured between great gulps of coke-a-cola;
I look away guiltily
as we make eye contact,
but not before I glimpse a blush begin.
The train is a slow one,
stopping at all stations
between Norwich and Sherringham.
My glance inevitably slides back.
A crisp blue check cotton shirt,
short sleeved,
a brown suede waistcoat??
Grief!! Chocolate biscuits
already half consumed.
Green gabardine trousers,
black loafers…
A bottle of orangeade,
made short work of
followed swiftly by the rest of the biscuits.
Oh lord, please let the train
reach West Runton
before the explosion…
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Copyright
VMM2008
