On Platform Two of Basingstoke Station One Night in October
Sun, 14 Oct 2018
Trains, on a Saturday night.
They thunder in. Pause for a while.
They thunder out.
They carry the lost and the loveless.
Through the black dark to a hoped-for home.
A girl. A boy.
So matched. So shy. So lonely.
A hundred more miles to Manchester.
As silent they gaze at the luring lights of Reading, then Oxford.
And they muse, alone with their thoughts.
Are kisses in Birmingham?
Caresses in Stoke?
Travelling they say, is better than arriving.