8.20 – by Sharon Phillips

 

Green fields moss-stitched with beet or fuzzed
this seat taken   the service to London Waterloo
with shoots of winter wheat copper leaves on forest
finish your drink   our next station   good for you
floors sky bleached to old denim by February sun
behave   what’s this dump   don’t flush while seated

greendark cuttings dazzle of silver frosted roofs
hello   on the train   mind your fingers   relax
flint-grey platforms splatted white with cockle
suspicious items   I can’t help   already said that
shells of chewing gum and gobs of pigeon shit
information   have a sandwich   in all carriages

yellow brick terraces rusty cars in wreckers’ yards
want a roll   it’s a small town   kill my husband
metal-clad office blocks with art deco curves
too damp   dadada   see a show   have a drink
building sites where bony cranes pause to confer
get lost   arriving at   I don’t know what to do.

 

 

 

Sharon is retired and lives in Dorset. Her poems have been published on websites including Ink, Sweat and Tears, Algebra of Owls and Snakeskin.

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