Morning Blues Of London Poem by Steven Cooke

I see reflections in the window,
My coffee, my only friend.
Waiting for my journey to begin.
My suitcase, my only possession
Yesterday’s clothes, yesterday’s photos
Yesterday’s dreams, all packed neatly for yesterday’s man

The whistle, slowly we move off
Leaving yesterday life
As I ponder through my window,
I hear the track mocking,
“It’s all your fault”, “it’s all your fault”, “it’s all your fault”
No peace for yesterday man

We pass fields of lavender, a reminder of when love was sweet
I see fields of barley, and hay bales
Where forbidden love was born
Then ploughed fields, the furrows of betrayal
Raking through my soul

We pass a ruined castle, my dreams my hopes, all perished there
Swept away by the forces of passion,
Crumbling the walls of yesterday’s love,
My window of torment, reveals all “please go away”
For I want Today’s window,

But my confession, rapes my mind
You see my wife loves another,
My neglect, my fault, all the judges agreed.
Into a tunnel, a respite from all this
A moment’s darkness
Alone again, with my coffee

I’m still, rolling down the track of despair
The guard announcing the next station
“All change at Piccadilly, ”
“Connections for nowhere and oblivion”
“Platform Three”

A rush of bowler Hats cram the doors
Anonymous souls leading anonymous lives
And me, with my cup of coffee, alone with the window,

I see reflections once more,
I lay my pen down,
And I Thank god that’s not me.
Oh how I hate Monday mornings,
Time to leave