Stopping Train to Hull

On the stopping train to Hull
-a strangely place to feel excited-
well, at twenty-one or so.
A gaûche and timid ghost
rushing to a maybe-lover,
remembering the misread signals
and playing hide-and-seek with
meaning, among the innuendos.

And passing every station
his expressions alternating
like the petals plucked
-while chanting- her decision.

It's no surprise: he jumped
a little early, stumbling on
the grubby platform - her
envelop-mental welcome
hid his blushes on a shoulder,
because you never know
until it happens
- and it only happens
if she says so.