Delayed Gratification

“This is the one, the one to wait for.”

The rhythm of her voice tolled the truth.

“This is the only one worth waiting for,

The only one we’ve ever wanted”.

But it was only ever he who wanted –

As ardently as anyone could wish –

This train. She who would remain on the PA

Envied him entirely; he smiled

As damp warmth welcomed him aboard.

Puffy clothes, large bags and extra legs

Blocked smooth passage to the seat he’d spied

As she pulled in – “That’s the one, the one I want”,

He thought, and knew how plain a thought it was.

During this time a thin pale woman pushed harder,

Wanted it more, thought more purely, sat down

On the last seat in the steaming carriage.

“I hate this train. Cattle truck. Mobile Hellhole. Got to – ”

He had to. Get out. Next stop.

He could taste – in his lungs – squalid air.

Disease-train, the shudders dry hacks,

Each screech yelping pain. Darkness

Hid the trees and slopes he knew; he wished

Ardently as before that brakes would put a stop

(Please God) to what he’d thought he’d love.

The driver had his mother’s voice,

Telling him all would be well in the morning

And inside the electricity bolted, spasmed,

And he knew – at last – that what was real was good.

Alighting better still than boarding,

He envied the PA announcer back,

Hating mad hot scuttling insect world.

A chair. A light. A book. All would be well:

The only one he’d ever wanted he already had.