The Train Station Brunch

Loose pigeons scatter
Like the tea leaves
In the old man’s milky swill;

The train station brunch
And the single salty tear,

Children leaving home
And the stale chocolate muffin,

The deep lines in his face,
All well thumbed pages
In a thick and frantic book

That’s just this minute started
To slowly flutter to a stutter of calm;

Once chewed fingernails
All soft now and smooth,

Ageing hands all poems
And newsprint,

Sat where the epilogue sings.

One Response to “The Train Station Brunch”

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