Brian Wake Poems
|2.||I Never Did Think||6/12/2013|
|5.||Leading The Blind||6/12/2013|
|11.||Clutching At Straw||6/12/2013|
|13.||Lazarus Meets The Press||6/12/2013|
|15.||Signs Of Spring||6/12/2013|
At thirteen forty five our train begins to move, and, late
to board, what seats remain face not toward but from.
I shuffle off and fold my overcoat and sit, do battle
with a newspaper to find a decent page and settle down
Behind me, music hisses from a faulty earphone. A child
describes the passing fields; a city child surprised by space
and countryside, surprised by, look mum, cows and sheep.
Across the aisle a blue-haired lady with an open book
is fast asleep.
From where I sit, my awkward view is of the places
we have travelled ...
In the early hours then, sometime between
not wanting to get up and needing to,
expectant silences, the visual discrepancy
between gunmetal blues of fading night
and gorgeous morning, my father walked
the landing half asleep.
He asked me if… do I, he said, still work,
and should I shave, and if the bus was due.