430
glimpse
the
little lane I walk down
at
the stop where I'll never alight
still
I see down it, mind's eye and all
as
if a yellow lamp drew into the circle
it
leads off into others, that alley
and
streets and avenues
away
to countries not yet called on
they're
in the papers every day
splashed
across the news
my
other life and lives are there
unknown
as they are here
step
after step still, day upon day
another
husband, another wife
the
children, tragedies and joys
one
can almost remember it now
the
names and the colours, the questions asked
stepping
down onto the platform
would
it not be as if you were led?
it's
as eyes meet, strange because the place is
although
this stop is on your line
surely
you would be blameless to go
who
knows how much of this life you'd forget?
you'd
follow just a whiff of something delicious
no
more intention, direction than that
winter
steam – the potato man calling
summer
and fireflies sprinkle the hill
there
would be some liquid refreshment
a
comfortable room where you'd kip the first night
and
that would be it
there'd
be no going back
one
considers all of this
just
for a moment
'mind
the step', some blank voice says
'doors are closing now'
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