I have the leap in my leg
of somebody going out
for drinks on a thursday evening,
boarding the 5.40 train to get there.

almost imperceptible birdsong,
a woman in long coat obscuring light
allowing the midges to be suddenly seen,
dancing as dust then unseen.

the now beige and cracked drinking fountain,
stuffed with balled up newspaper
and where the track bends
some creak of wheel on steel.

rebellious breeze of tobacco drifts
down the platform
and falling coins are let drop
down the gap to the rails.

we board below the footbridge.