Your Stop Poem by Graham Stone

Motion
Churning,
Motion
Sifting
Motion…
Motion…
Echo of conversation
Forms of faces
Emerging from the fleshy red.
Scenery, childhood, green, trees
Faces, people, they do not belong in this time
I knew them not then, no matter,
We run, we play, they speak but I do not comprehend.
Motion… stairs, dirty grey, concrete stairs, ,
And running up, up… dusty rusted rail
Still voices, faces, none belong together,
Fleshy red, just one voice, blonde hair
Brown eyes, mouth moves but I do not see.
I here though, words now, repeated conversations
Wet cold Tarmac, familiar street, bare feet, lost, where’s my home?
This is familiar; I’ve done this before, I know, I can find my home…

“S’cuse me mate” lost… feet…. Flesh red ah,
I open my eyes; I’m on the train, bloke in front, talking to me?
‘This your stop? ’.

(inspired by the nice chap who thought i might've over slept)