The Boy on The Train

The train is packed with passengers
So I choose a seat by the exit doors,
In the compartment joining the carriages.

A cyclist boards the train.
He is neither young nor old
(I can’t tell).

The train bumbles along.
People get on and off the train at each stop.
Stops later the cyclist gets up,
Manoeuvers his bike
To get off the train.

I look at him.
He looks familiar
but I can’t remember who he is.
He smiles, I smile.
I don’t know who smiles first.

Suddenly I recognise him.

He looks different and I—
I must of looked the same,
Different.

I wave my hand unintentionally,
He nods his head in acknowledgement.

I am thrown off guard.
I don’t know why,
Perhaps it was the awkward wave of my hand
Or that my hair was messy,
Disheveled from the wind and rain.
I wasn’t going to put on make up that day,
I couldn’t be bothered.
I forgot my blusher,
And must of looked pale.

I get up to let him pass,
Wheel my suitcase out the way,
Make room for his exit.

I watch him depart,
Wheel his bike over the bridge,
Pass out of sight.

He must be working now,
I think
(back in the city)
Like all the other commuters
On the train.

Strange,
I was just thinking about beautiful people—
I think,
He must be a beautiful person
Still.

 

All written content belongs to the author and is subject to copyright

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