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. Riot Kitty
    27th July 2011 / 11:11 pm

    That is a really lovely piece of writing, Ms. Claire 🙂

  2. Anonymous
    28th July 2011 / 7:26 am

    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

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