Waterloo, 9.05

Noise,

Dirt.

The breathless rush of harried commuters.

Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.

The crackle of announcements.

Tourists, eyes wide, decipher the boards,

Try to make sense of places they can't quite pronounce,

The remnants of a hundred invading forces, a piecemeal language left behind.

They struggle to navigate the tide of sheer humanity,

Of bodies sweeping along the concourse.

Billboards scream for attention:

Sale! Show! Buy! Buy! Buy!

Possesions make us, right?

Businesswoman in a powersuit,

Blackberry glued to hand,

Always connected.

Little old lady, scarf genteely knotted,

Waits under the clock, lost in the throng.

Suspended. Still.

Until the childish cry of "Grandma!" re-animates her,

Rouses her,

And like a music box ballerina whose key has been turned, she stirs.

She rushes towards the little boys,

And is lost in a tangle of giggles and kisses.

Tannoy switches, bing bong bong,

Platforms alter and the crowd surges once more.

Through the barrier,

Onto the train.

Sit down.

Open book.

Leave the city again.

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2 comments:

  1. That is a really lovely piece of writing, Ms. Claire :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks for travelling through the noise and bother to come see us darling girl! Was a complete treat! Looking forward to seeing you again soon I hope... SO glad you got a seat Mme Muir x x x

    ReplyDelete

Thank you for your comment - I do read them all but it may take me a little while (a couple of days) to respond during busy times. I love reading what you have to say!

Have a wonderful day!

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