Sandy Wilson
black tea
The
train is slowing down through the leafy cutting, the foliage fragmenting the
sunlight, a strobe light effect inside the carriage.
You
are standing at the crossing gate as my train rumbles slowly over the uneven
rails.
The
turbulence created by the passing of the carriages ruffles your blond hair,
wraps the fabric of your dress around your slender legs. You are pretty,
attractive.
You,
a stranger, now travel with me, recorded in my memory, for the rest of my
journey.
The
train slows, stops at the platform. My wife steps forward, kisses me.
'Seen
anything interesting?' she asks.
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