Between the platform and the train
and here I stand again

nothing's fair or do I have
a jaundiced view?

you read
I write
along the roads that
lead to midnight and
we've all gone there

down the unlit avenues
where you've shivered
in your fright
along the roads that
lead to midnight

this is a hide and seek
Monday to Friday
a
midweek game and
here I stand again
teetering on the brink
of should I or not
decide to think
drink or sling my 'ook
and slink away.

Between the platform and the train is a universe of pain filled with galaxies as yet unformed
and I am torn between a devil and deep space,

to close my eyes and in
darkness look upon my face
and if I have a jaundiced view
who is at fault?
what do I do?

On the five fifty six
to Waterloo
you might consider
as I too have done
what
is it all about?