It was a need to get out
From under his own feet.
It never paid to get too
Comfortable.
They were getting itchy
Under the table.
And he was just one step
From taking the milk train.

The more he thought about it,
The more he wondered.
If he was reading his own signs
From the wrong angle.
As he ate,
A very large plate,
Of crispy bacon,
Plum tomatoes and
Two, very runny eggs,
What fuelled his desire to leave?
Was he afraid this was a story
With legs.

He had always been short
On staying power.
He enjoyed the chase,
Until something changed.
It was a rhythm thing,
He got tangled up
In the heat of it.
And before he knew it
He grew tired of the place.
The change of pace.
The easy grace.
Heck, even the smile
That lit up her face.

But it was good,
He thought.
As he shovelled up
The last of his food.
It was time to go
But he was curious,
Would she be furious
If he didn’t show?
Would he be missed
When she awoke?
If he went back now
Could he slip
Back in, alongside her.
Would she know,
He had thought to go?

It was now or never.
The train was due.
But without being clever
Or doing the math,
Assessing the rights and wrongs,
Weighing up
The pros and cons,
He realised he didn’t mind
If he ever caught a train again.
His bones were crying out.
All they wanted to do
Was spend their days
Rolling over
In her bed of clover.

He was ready
To face his music
Whatever the tune
He would listen.
So he finished up,
Paid his bill,
Smiled at the girl behind the till.
He knew these people now
And was it really so bad
To be known.

It had taken a long time
To realise
Life was a thing he needed to choose.
What did he have to lose?
You can be happy
And sing the blues.
It is a mind thing.

And now that he said it,
He felt at ease.
For the first time in years.
Did she do that?
He wondered.
Maybe she did.
And he was content
To wait
And see
If she felt at ease with him.
Maybe she did.