Commuting Poem by Lee Wilkinson

The old man with
the eyes like water-logged
marbles is lost in his
cinematic soul. Deep
in the registry vault of
his unconscious with a conscious
hand he plucks and projects a
past onto the white canvas
of his memory.
He is audience projectionist
actor director cinematographer all
bundled and spliced together before he
snaps!
Back into his eyes again
and sees me looking
before he
steps
from the platform and is eaten
by the 8.27 express from Bayswater to
Claisebrook.