Carriage
The train station has a high wall and bedding plants
clinging to the incline. On the platform, two men stand
far apart. I am going nowhere, visiting the station at 5:45 am
in January, nearly late for the train I haven't booked;
for the flower show, which is to be bright
as it is at the bottom of a cared-for garden.
Fog has yet to release the bank. I am sure flowers are there.
Frost battles a rise in my body heat but I am happy.
Headlights are an injection under the bridge.
Both men board, one steps back, the other nods,
as strangers do, knowing the strangeness in others.
A woman wobbles onto the train, appears to be sweating.
I see her fussing, unzipping her coat as you do
when you are visiting somewhere, unsure if you are welcome.
I wish them safe exit. My hand rises to wave.
I want to say, stop! Let us all off.
After, when the wind catches up with the last carriage,
I am on the other side of the track, dead-heading daisies.
Maeve McKenna lives in Sligo, Ireland. Her writing has been placed in several international poetry competitions and published in Mslexia, Culture Matters, Fly On The Wall, The Galway Review, The Cormorant, San Antonio Review, Boyne Berries and many others. Her work is also online in Atrium, Dodging The Rain and Blue Nib, to name a few. She has work forthcoming in Orbis, The Ofi Press and Black Bough Poetry.