Niall OConnor: Train Journey

A scrolled rosebud of a young woman

entered the rocking train carriage,

breasts pushing against restraint,

sat down, and quickly placed a cigarette

between two stubbed and bitter fingers;

stubbed from biting, bitter from ‘Stop-n-Grow'.

I chose not to see, and looked away.

Four callow youths, united by hormones,

like a primordial pack of predatory, hunting males,

were corralled by their seating, but free to desire and conspire;

giggles and guffaws loud enough to drown out

the clickety-click soothing of our therapist track.

I refused to see, and looked away.

The mother of all, as yet unborn,

sat quietly biting her nails,

oblivious to my fading, my silent whimpering’s,

and relief arrived finally, for her and her hunted kind,

with the shuddering halt of the train’s arrival,

to another deserted platform,

and our subsequent noisy departure.

Niall OConnor