The woman on the train
Would have been quite attractive
But for the disturbance
That kept the smile from her lips.
Her phone call bore no fruit,
“It” hadn’t arrived yet and
She arranged to call back
On the way home from work.
She was in her mid-30s I supposed,
Sitting there in contemplative silence,
Her long dark hair contrasting
With the creamy wool of her coat.
On the table in front was
A pair of red leather gloves
With a velvet scarf that
Matched her crimson lipstick.
When we got to Peterborough
She pulled on the gloves
And, moving down the carriage,
Left the train.
I noticed she wore black boots
As I watched her walking
Off along the platform
The rain beating heavily against the window.
The train pulled away
And I sat there wondering
What her problem might be,
Then I moved on.