Between Holborn and King’s Cross,
an Evening Standard and a suitcase, one mine.
How’s your Thursday evening?
Oh, that’s good, great. To or from?
I see. Just starting to rain, wasn’t it?
And this is the last stretch?
None of this said. Surprise!
Here’s the bunny from the hat.
Silence pours from me in curdled clumps.
An earlier horoscope tumbles into view.
All you’re experiencing is a case of stage fright.
Now the deceleration, eight people apart,
five minutes in all, give or take. Me stood,
you sat. It’s farewell, naturally,
how could it be anything but? Strike it up
as another one of those never-knows.
Arsenal or Arnos Grove?
No matter, all dissolved. That’s that.