Photo by Joshua McKnight on Pexels.com
In the slow-mo of tube trains
two men French kissed beneath a clock that made them cry.
An oily gale blew out the Orpington train which took him away
yet something beautiful happened as a busker sang louder for them.
An old friend told me of trains
he said where the yellow line is faded the door will open there
and all these shoes with all their journeys shall congregate waiting
for the hot breath of overfilled trains where people migrate in headphones.
At Euston station I sat outside where pigeons eat Nando’s and hummus
and a man or was it a woman emerged from a sleeping bag asking for change.
I always get lost in Euston at the end of the tracks where London starts
and something beautiful happens when people meet at the screens
waiting for life
and their life
to begin again.
Peace Poet Antony Owen 