waiting for the last train
black trench coat over black culottes
swinging above bare ankles
tucked into black docs against a smog-greyed night
leaning matrix-style against a post
unmoved
by gusts from passing trains
and homeward-stumbling drunks
she’s a midnight trifle: black on black on black
bob bouncing – a shock of orange
it’s washed out: faded as a watercolour sunset
or summer fruits boba milk tea
it’s the brightest thing at the station
she makes herself brighter by tucking into a satsuma
unravelling
a perfect spiral
of peel
like a black widow spinning a web
the last train pulls in
dragging clouds
she discards her peel on the platform
and disappears through green doors
oh crap that train was also yours
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