Two young Americans
Sit before me on a train
Discussing their fathers fashion taste

How did this conversation start?
Is there any way I can interfere
To halt it?

A woman runs full pelt past my left-hand window
The doors shut, she gazes through the pane, as we
Move off- wet eyed, gutted

I try to express with my dry eyes, sorry eyebrows
That she has been saved from a fate
Worse than a quiet platform