Cambridge To London, Blackfriar Station Poem by Bernard Henrie

The train stops in zyphyr wind as if

trying to remember.


I slouch in my Borsalino

nursing a thermos of sloe gin

only to receive a dispatch of reproach

from an evangelist;


Half-filled baggage carts

brush passed, buttery overhead lamps

dampen the station in yellow.


It makes me feel a little sick;

the exposed brickwork and nearly

abandoned platform; the food

kiosks closed at that hour.


A saudade descends, I hold your

apparition close:


white as cherry blossom,

fire eater red mouth.


Winter just lifting.