No.9 Poem by Dann Thomas

An intuition twitches as she walks down the platform
Then turns around to look as another will soon roll in
Along the day hundreds of this incessant passing storm,
Tiny puffs of smoke transform into mighty beasts of tin.

Like wind-up caterpillars aimlessly running down a line
Carrying people coloured by God's unfathomable passion
Chasing eternity again and again at the end of every mile.
Stacking up or disappointing dreams at the next station.

She watches eagerly as the last gets off every train
Hoping that on one of them her first love would return.
With little ones, the platform's now home in sun or rain
Waiting with true hope for a love that still burns.

She looks sadly across those endless lines
Varied dimensions of life's inestimable prison wall
Heading her family home back to Platform No.9
Hoping that at least their wagging tails never stall.