Runcible Spoon

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Waiting As I Wait

 

Standing in a train station

without a timetable,

I wait for a train

the ghosts say never comes

but once a lifetime.

 

Of course I ignore them,

keeping my ears closed

and my eyes on the horizon

I imagine the train

will come from.

 

Time upon time

the train arrives,

coming from the opposite direction,

suddenly there, silent,

vapour caressing its faded silver skin.

I go to board,

but can't, only ghosts are allowed,

and I am not a ghost,

not yet.

 

The ghosts cover their phantom mouths

as they snigger,

having found their prescribed seats.

As one they whisper,

'Not yet, not yet',

 

not yet,

as the train pulls out

and speeds to the horizon

I spent a lifetime searching.

 

Not yet. No, not yet.

But life is not forever,

not as a singular,

and I will wait at this station

until not yet becomes now,

and some train appears

that I am able to board.